


The Legend of Raven: Prince of Dreams

by Ktown, Pangea



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dreams, Legend of Zelda fusion, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 101,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ktown/pseuds/Ktown, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangea/pseuds/Pangea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is a simple goat herder in tiny Ordon Village, content to spend his days keeping an eye on both the goats and a small pack of village children—that is, until he starts having strange, reoccurring dreams that no matter how hard he tries to remember he forgets as soon as he wakes.  He can't seem to shake the restless feeling that there's something very familiar about the dreams and that he's standing on the edge of something very big about to happen.</p>
<p>And then one day Ordon Village is attacked by monsters straight out of nightmares and Erik's world is turned upside down when a dark, evil power puts all of Hyrule under a sleeping spell.  What starts out as a mission to save his village turns into a quest to save the entire realm, because he just may be the only one who can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello, Hero

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, thank you to **Ktown** , who found time to both read this monster as it came out and create such beautiful art! Please check out her master posts on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/649878) and [LJ](http://ktown01.livejournal.com/3891.html)! Her art is absolutely stunning.
> 
> Thank you to **afrocurl** for patiently answering all of my newbie questions, and for the swift and thorough beta - any mistakes that remain are certainly my own.
> 
> And finally, thank you to **MonstrousRegiment** and **Elsian** , who listened to my babbling and dithering about starting this fic way back in August, when it was little more than a half-dreamed product of my long days out at sea; thank you to **PippinPips** for alpha reading the first few chapters and letting me know how it made you feel (haha); thank you to **Fightingfortheusers** , **Wallhaditcoming** , **AliceDuIkana** , and all the rest of you who frequent the Chatango chat for letting me word dump, rant, and rave about this story all along the way and for being so encouraging and generally wonderful; and thank you to everyone on Twitter (especially **ninemoons42** ) and Tumblr for all the words of encouragement and cheering me on to the end. I very much doubt this fic would be finished without all you guys. :)
> 
> This fic is a _Legend of Zelda_ fusion, but an in-depth knowledge of the games isn't necessary to be able to read this. For those of you who do know the games, I've taken a great deal of aspects from _The Wind Waker_ and _Twilight Princess_ , with a little bit of _Link's Awakening_. Also for anyone interested, my theme song for this fic is without a doubt [Little Talks](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghb6eDopW8I) by _Of Monsters and Men_ (picture a slime blob typing to this song on repeat and you will be uncomfortably close to certain events that may have transpired).
> 
> And finally, as a disclaimer - Erik and Charles are the same age as Link in _Twilight Princess_ , which puts them at about 18. Wink wink.

 

 

X

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

X

_This is but one of the legends of which the people speak…_

 

X

 

When he sleeps, he dreams, and when he wakes, he can’t remember of what he dreams.

 

X

 

The breeze is soft and sighing as it whispers through the tall grass, stalks swaying gently and giving the appearance of rolling ocean waves.  Shadows dance across the field swiftly as clouds roll by overhead, slipping in front of the bright sun for moments at a time before billowing on, pushed by a relentless wind.  It is quiet here, with only the sound of the breeze and the occasional snort from the goats.

He lies back in the grass, stretched out with his arms folded beneath his head, eyes closed as he idly chews on a stalk, rolling the end between his teeth.  He likes the quiet; he enjoys the solidarity of working as a ranch hand and watching the goats graze all day.  It is a simple life, but for now he is content.

At least, this is what he tells himself whenever he’s feeling restless and displaced, a strange ache in his bones as if they long to be in motion, never stopping moving forward, onward, _forward_ —

“There he is!  I see him!”  A girl’s laugh breaks the quiet, and he huffs out a small, near-silent sigh.

Pounding footsteps in the grass, more laughter, and while he doesn’t open his eyes he can feel the sun being blocked out by something more stationary than a cloud.

“Erik!”  Someone prods him with a toe.  “Wake up, sleepy head!”

Erik cracks open his eyes, looking up at the three figures hovering over him.  Angel is grinning down at him, her hands on her hips, amused.  Alex is scowling—he’s always scowling, one day his face is going to freeze that way—with his brow furrowed, and Sean is crouched, examining a beetle scurrying through the dirt, floppy red hair shifting in the breeze.

“Wait,” a breathless voice calls and Hank runs up to join them, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees, panting, “wait for me.”

All four of them are younger than Erik by several years.  By all rights he should be too old for them to consider him part of their little ragtag gang of friends, but that’s never stopped them before and surely won’t stop them ever.

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch?” Alex demands, folding his arms across his chest.

Erik opens his eyes further, and raises an eyebrow.

Angel giggles.  “Yeah right, like there’s anything out here in the first place.”

“What if the goats wander away?” Alex asks stubbornly, and Erik resists the urge to roll his eyes—the pasture is surrounded by an old but sturdy fence that he’d just checked for breaks this morning.  The goats aren’t going anywhere.

“Hey Erik, can you do that whistling thing?” Sean asks hopefully, looking up from the beetle at last.  Erik hopes that it’s able to scurry away.  “The one you do with the grass?  Please?  It’s so _cool_ , I want to learn!”

Erik pushes himself into a sitting position, spitting out his stalk of grass.  He does a brief glance around the field out of habit.  A quick count proves that all twenty goats are accounted for, still happily grazing, and that nothing is amiss.  Sean cheers when Erik pushes himself up to his feet, brushing away bits of grass from his simple brown tunic.

“It’s not that complex,” Hank says as Erik searches around in the nearby grass for the right kind of leaf, “I imagine that anyone could do it as long as they applied the correct amount of air flow for—”

“Shut up, Hank.” Alex interrupts him.

“Be nice, Alex.” Angel admonishes.

Erik ignores their bickering, still peering intently through the tall grass.  The sun is starting to go down, so it’s probably about time to call Magneta anyway and start rounding up the goats to get them back into the stables for the evening.  There—he spots the plant at last, a shorter and stubbier type of weed that has a little bit thicker leaves.  The children fall silent when they see him bend down to pick one, looking up at him expectantly as he brings the leaf up to his lips.

Erik blows, three high notes that rise and fall in pitch, echoing out across the field and the surrounding hills.  There is a moment’s pause during which all that can be heard is another small gust of breeze, and then his call is answered by a loud whinny and Magneta gallops up the path to the ranch and vaults over the pasture fence, trotting over to where Erik and the children wait.

“Awesome!” Sean crows, the rest of the children joining in, reaching up to pet the tall, pretty mare that has been Erik’s faithful companion since she was a filly.

She pushes her nose into Erik’s chest, huffing out a warm breath as Erik strokes her velvety face, gentle and fond.  She always comes when Erik calls, no matter how far she is, and Erik wouldn’t trade her for all the gold in the world.

“One day I’m going to have a horse,” Alex boasts, “and he’s going to be the strongest in the village.”

“Headstrong, I’m sure,” Angel teases, stroking Magneta’s flank.

“We should get out of the way,” Hank says, correctly interpreting Erik’s glance, “Erik needs to start herding the goats into the stable.”

“Can we watch?” Sean asks hopefully.

Erik nods towards the fence and then swings himself up into Magneta’s saddle, settling into the worn, comfortable leather.  Magneta shifts beneath him, swinging her head up to look forward, waiting for his direction.

“Come on,” Angel says, giving Sean and Alex a tug, “move it or don’t come crying to me when you get trampled.”

The children retreat to the other end of the field, climbing up to perch on separate fence posts and settle in to watch.  Erik guides Magneta around the edge of the field once in a wide circle, sizing up the way the goat herd has spread out to graze.  He makes it a sort of game with himself, to see how many tries it takes him to chase all of the goats inside the stable.  Right now his best attempt is six.

Erik sits up straight, and points Magneta towards the largest clump of goats.  Time for some good, old-fashioned wrangling.  “Yah!”

 

X

 

_Long ago, there existed a kingdom where a golden power lay hidden._

 

X

 

That night he has a strange dream that he can’t remember when he wakes.

When he does wake, he has a sharp sense of urgency, his heart racing, even though he doesn’t quite feel inclined to get up yet.  It’s almost as if it’s second-hand—the urgency is someone else’s, not his.  It only adds to the unsettled feeling in his bones, like he’s trying to contain too many things in one place, and his grip is starting to slip.

He’s still lying in bed looking up at the ceiling and trying to recall the dream when a rock flies in through his open window, landing with a dull thunk and clattering across the floorboards before rolling to a stop somewhere under his table.

“Erik!” a voice calls from down below.  “Erik, wake up!”

He sits up and stretches, arching his back until something pops, and then swings his legs over the side of his bed and pads over to the window.  Angel, Alex, Sean, and Hank are all gathered at the base of the tree, looking back up at him expectantly.

“It’s your day off!” Sean says, bouncing up and down.  “Come play with us!”

“ _Hang out_ with us,” Alex corrects haughtily.

“Hank’s mom has something really cool in the shop!” Angel adds.  “She won’t let us play with it, though, and says we’re too young, but I’d bet she’d let _you_ buy it!”

“It _is_ dangerous,” Hank says, a little defensively, “especially if you don’t know how to use it.”

“Just come down here already!” Alex says impatiently.

Erik lifts a hand, signaling he’ll be down in a moment, and then withdraws from the window, turning back into his small, modest home.  He lives outside of the small village and likes it that way, but that doesn’t stop the children from hounding him.  He supposes that he could easily scare them off but in all honesty he doesn’t really mind their company—Erik might like the quiet, but it’s nice to have them break up the monotony and keep things interesting.

On his way out, Erik pauses by the mirror.  His hair is a little disheveled, and he looks tired.  He frowns.  He still can’t remember whatever it was that he’d been dreaming about, which is odd because usually when he dreams it’s about simple or silly things that don’t make much sense.  But he’d felt this one, sharp and clear and almost real, and yet he can’t recall a single detail.  It’s significant, somehow, but every time his mind comes close to pinning down a fleeting wisp of memory, it quickly slips away.

He’s been getting this feeling a lot, lately.  It seems like every night when he goes to bed he has a dream that he can’t remember in the morning.

Erik sighs and opens his front door, climbing down the ladder with practiced ease, his sandals gripping the worn wood effortlessly.  As soon as his feet touch the ground Alex and Sean start racing back to the village, ignoring Hank’s pleas to wait.

“Boys.”  Angel wrinkles her nose.  “Were you ever as much of a hooligan as they all are?”

Erik shrugs, starting after them at a much more sedate pace.  Angel falls into step beside him, swinging her arms as they follow the path back down to the village.  He doesn’t actually live that far from the edge of the village, but it’s far enough as to where his house in his tree can’t exactly be seen.

Ordon Village is small, with only a handful of houses tucked into a valley of hills that act as guardians.  A small creek runs directly through the center of town, bubbling softly while silver minnows dart between reeds, scales flashing in the sunlight, and then drains into a fairly deep pond, the crystal-clear water a valuable resource for the town.  Several small patches of crops are planted on any available flat surface, and a few villagers look up from their weeding and wave as Erik and his motley group step in past the front gate.  

Hank’s mother runs the only shop in town, and her house is the first building they reach.  Sean and Alex dart inside, slamming the door in front of Hank’s face.  Hank pushes in after them, always hurrying to catch up, and even Angel darts ahead of Erik in her excitement, slipping inside.

“Erik!”

Erik whips his head around at the sound of his name, but no one is nearby or even looking in his direction.  The sunlight is beating down on his shoulders, relentlessly warm—it’s going to be a scorching day, he can already tell—but Erik feels a chill, cold creeping in the space between his muscles and skin, unsettling.  Something isn’t right.

He looks around again, but everything still appears to be normal.  He strains his ears, listening, but no one else says his name until the shop door bangs open and Alex sticks his head out, calling, “Erik!  Are you coming or not?”

Erik gives himself a shake—it’s nothing, there was nothing there—and even so glances around one last time before he ducks inside.

 

X

 

_It was a prosperous land blessed with green forests, tall mountains, and peace._

 

X

 

“Can I try?  Please, please, _please_ can I try?”  Sean is practically bouncing up and down.

“Let Erik shoot it first,” Angel says as she rolls her eyes, “he’s the one who spent all his rupees on it.”

“I have the targets set up!” Hank announces, adjusting his glasses as he stumbles out of the bushes.  “Do you have the seeds, Erik?”

Erik nods.  They’re standing in the small clearing in front of the tree holding his house, and Hank has set up several circle targets at various heights.  Erik digs in his pocket and pulls out the slingshot he’d bought back in the village, and then one of the small seeds he’d picked up on their way back.  The children had seemed excited to see the slingshot in action so he may as well give them a performance.  He widens his stance, pulling on the leather piece a couple times to test its limberness.

“I bet you can’t hit them all on the first try!” Alex taunts.

Erik rolls his eyes and fits a seed into the small groove in the leather and then lifts the slingshot, taking careful aim.  He releases the leather with a _snap_ and there’s a sharp whistling sound as the seed shoots through the air and hits the first target dead-on, shattering the flimsy wood instantly.

“Whoa!” Sean cheers, while Angel pumps a fist into the air in triumph.

“Well done, Erik.” Hank says, a little shyly.  “You’ve really got a good sense of projectile aim.”

“Bet you can’t do it again.” Alex adds.

Erik shrugs, looks around the clearing.  Five targets left.  Easy enough.  He pulls out five more seeds, takes a breath, and then in rapid-fire hits each of the targets one by one, shattering them all.

Even Alex cheers this time, all of the children’s woops carrying through the forest.  Erik allows himself a smug smile as they each clamor for a turn while Hank hurries off to get more targets.  He hands the slingshot to Sean, since he’d asked first, and then steps back when Angel and Alex begin to argue about whose turn is next.  It’s probably best to let them work that out themselves.

“Nice shot, my friend.”

Erik turns his head quickly, but no one is there.  A quick glance back at Alex, Sean, and Angel shows that none of them have heard anything, still squabbling back and forth.  But there had definitely been a voice, and he swears it was the same one he’d heard outside the shop before.

Besides the children, the forest is quiet, and Erik can hear nothing beyond the chirping of the birds or the rustle of leaves from the breeze.  He looks out through the trees away from the direction of the village for a few long moments, standing very still, trying to discern if there is anyone out there, flitting between tree trunks like some kind of nymph or forest spirit.  He’s sweating lightly from the heat of the sun, but the same cold feeling from before has returned and he’s not sure what that means.

Of course there is nothing—no one is there.  But there had been a voice.  Only a voice.

“Erik!”  Sean’s voice breaks in through his thoughts and Erik blinks, drawn back to the present.  “How did you shoot this?  I can’t even make the seeds go straight!”

Erik steps forward to help him, and he forgets about the voice.

For now.

 

X

 

_But one day a man of great evil found the golden power and took it for himself…_

 

X

 

“You’re back!”

Erik catches a flash of pale skin and blue eyes before he’s practically being tackled, a cold body latching onto his tightly and is nearly knocked over by the force.  He looks down in confusion and sees nothing but curly brown hair that tickles his nose for a moment, making him want to sneeze.

“I know you come back every night when you sleep,” the voice says, sounding slightly abashed, “but I’m still so glad to see you anyway.”

Erik’s not sure what that means or where he is—or who’s clinging to him, for that matter—so needless to say he’s a little stunned when the boy clinging to him steps back to look up at him, revealing those bright blue eyes and stunningly red lips, a small sprinkling of freckles dotting pale skin.  He only has to be a year younger than Erik is, two at the most, and he’s looking at Erik with such utterly bright hope that Erik takes a step back, unsure who this boy is or what he means to him.

“Oh,” he says, his expression dimming a little, “you’ve forgotten again, haven’t you?  Of course.”  He fiddles with his hands for a moment, squeezing them together tightly where they’re clasped in front of him.  He looks very small, standing alone in the middle of this luxuriously-furnished room.

Erik takes a step forward again automatically, without even thinking about it.  He’s not sure who this boy is, but he does know that he doesn’t like seeing him look so distraught.

The boy sees him move closer and smiles again, his eyes kind and warm.  It is in that moment Erik decides that whoever he is, he’s no threat.  Not with a smile like that.

“My name is Charles,” he says, his voice soft, “and I’m very glad you’re here, Erik.”

 _Charles_.  It suits him, Erik decides.  He doesn’t question how Charles knows his name.

After all, this is only a dream.

Charles seems to wince, as if he’s caught some of Erik’s thoughts.  Who knows, maybe he has.  Anything is possible in dreams.  “As much as I’m glad to see you, you can’t keep coming here,” he says, sounding suddenly worried, “because if I can follow you back, then they can too, and I don’t want—”

He breaks off suddenly, flinching when loud footsteps start echoing in the hallway beyond the short stairwell leading down to a wooden door.  That’s odd, Erik’s never been here before, how does he know about the hallway?

Dreaming, he reminds himself.

“Quickly, Erik,” Charles is saying urgently as the footsteps draw nearer, “you have to wake up.  I’ll find you soon, I promise.  I’m afraid that it’s only a matter of time before they come for your village anyway, but then that means I’ll be able to—”

The footsteps are nearly outside the door now, and Charles steps up close to him, reaching up to fist one hand lightly in the fabric of Erik’s tunic, while his other hand slips up to rest gently on the back of Erik’s head, tilting his face down so that their foreheads touch.  Charles’ skin is so cold.

Erik finds himself wishing that he could warm him up somehow.

Charles gives a light laugh, a smile curling at his lips.  “Thank you, my friend.  But you have to wake up now, Erik.”  The door at the bottom of the stairwell is starting to open.  “You have to wake up, wake up now, Erik, wake up, wake—”

 

X

 

_With its strength at his command, he spread darkness across the kingdom._

 

X

 

When Erik wakes he has a most peculiar sense of urgency, and he knows he had a dream but can’t remember anything about it.

Strange.

 

X

 

“Erik!  There you are, I’ve been waiting for you!”

Erik looks over at his name, and sees Alex’s father coming down the path from his house so he pulls gently on Magneta’s reins, slowing her to a halt.  He’s tended the goats all morning but Logan has let him off early today, citing that he’d looked tired—Erik certainly _feels_ tired, though he’s not sure why.

“I finished this last night,” Mr. Summers says, holding up a long, thin bundle, “and I almost had Alex run it up to you this morning at the pasture, but then I figured that putting this in Alex’s hands might not be such a good idea.”  He laughs.  “Here, take it.”

Erik accepts the bundle, unwrapping it slowly.  When an elegantly carved wooden sword is revealed, he holds it up in wonder for a moment, admiring how light it is.  He looks back down at Mr. Summers questioningly.

“Yes, it’s yours.”  Mr. Summers is smiling.  “Back when I was your age, my father made me a sword just like this one.  You’re a man now, Erik.”  He claps Erik on the shoulder.  “I figured it was about time that you got your own.  I hope you don’t mind that it’s just from me.”

Erik shakes his head quickly, giving a slight smile as he twirls the sword experimentally.  It balances deftly in his grip, and after a moment’s hesitation, he slips it back into the simple sheath and slings it across his back.  It falls neatly into place, the hilt visible over his shoulder out of the corner of his eye.

“You wear it like a natural.”  Mr. Summers nods approvingly.  “I’m sure I don’t need to tell _you_ this, Erik, but remember that it isn’t a toy.  Try not to let Alex or the other children play with it.”  He waits for Erik’s nod of agreement.  “Well, I’ll let you get along.  Have a good afternoon, Erik.”

Erik shakes his hand in thanks, and then urges Magneta into a light trot, headed across the small bridge over the creek and up the path through the rest of the village.  He nearly makes it to the gate before Alex, Sean, Angel, and Hank ambush him, darting out of the bushes to skip alongside Magneta as they make their way into the forest.

“Wow!  You got the wooden sword!”  Alex’s eyes are huge and he nearly trips over a rock in the path as he stares.  “You’ve _got_ to let us see it, Erik!”

Erik shakes his head firmly.

“Oh come on, Erik,” Angel cajoles, “you can at least show us what you can do with it.  Please?”

“Yeah, that’d be awesome!” Sean agrees.

“I could set up some practice dummies,” Hank offers, “and we can watch you, um, train.”

“Please?” Sean asks eagerly, and is echoed by Alex and Angel again.

Erik shrugs, and then nods.  There’s no harm in the children just watching him use the sword.  He’s a little eager to try it out himself—his weariness seems to have evaporated with the gift, and now his restless energy is itching to be unleashed.

It only takes Hank a few short minutes to set up three sad-looking scarecrows in the clearing next to Erik’s tree, and Erik makes sure that all of the children are backed up a reasonable distance away before he draws the sword again.  It’s only wooden so he’s not expecting to be able to do too much damage to the practice dummies, but the sword feels right and natural in his grip so he gives an experimental swing, keeping the blade horizontal.

“Awesome!” Alex shouts as the scarecrow rattles loudly from the force of Erik’s blow.  “Now try jabbing at it!”

Erik thrusts forward with the wooden blade, pleased when the scarecrow’s burlap body starts to rip.

“Try a vertical slice!” Sean suggests, so Erik turns to the next scarecrow, flexing his grip on the hilt for a moment before raising the blade up and swinging down with all his might, grunting with the effort as he knocks one of the scarecrow’s arms completely off.  “Whoa, so cool!”

“Back up a little bit and then jump at it!” Angel says, leaning forward where she’s sitting cross-legged on the ground.  “Pretend you’re being attacked!”

Erik does as he’s told, backing up a few paces and eyeing the scarecrow speculatively, holding his sword at the ready.  Then with a loud cry he bends his knees and launches himself forward in a leap, smashing the sword down against the dummy so hard that its head is crushed, much to the children’s delight.

“You’re so strong!” Sean says, and Alex adds, “Yeah, how’d you get to be so good already?”

“Now that is cool, daddy-o.” Angel agrees.

“I bet you could really get some power behind your swings if you spun around really fast.” Hank pipes up.  “Why don’t you try it?”

Erik nods, since he’s taken all of their other suggestions so far.  He holds out the sword in a straight line behind him, leaned forward with his feet spread wide.  “Haa!”  He spins, locking his elbow to keep his arm straight and when he hits the last scarecrow it breaks completely in half, wood splintering loudly.

Sean, Alex, and Angel all cheer, and even Hank is grinning.  Erik is slightly dizzy from spinning but it was definitely worth it, he thinks smugly as he examines his sword for any nicks—nothing, even after breaking the scarecrow’s support stick.

“Well done, Erik.”

The hair on the back of his neck stands on end, and he turns but there’s no one there.  He glances around, unsure.  Is he going mad?  He has no way to tell, especially if he’s hearing voices—or rather, _a_ voice.  It seems oddly familiar.  But he can’t quite place it.

“You _have_ to let me try.” Alex says, butting into Erik’s thoughts, and suddenly Erik is no longer holding his own sword as the boy takes advantage of his distraction and pulls it out of his limp grasp.

“Give it back, Alex, it’s not yours.” Angel orders when Erik makes a lunge for it.

Alex only dances out of reach, brandishing the wooden sword.  “Oh come on, it’s not like I’m going to hit anybody with it.  Whoa, this is really light!”  The air whistles as he whips the sword back and forth, and Sean jumps out of the way with a startled yell.

“Give it back, Alex.” Hank says firmly.

“Go home, Hank.” Alex says with a roll of his eyes.  “If you’re going to be a little baby—”

A fierce gust of wind picks up suddenly, so strong that it yanks on Erik’s clothes and some of the children stumble with various sounds of surprise.  The tree branches overhead creak as they sway and lash against one another, and leaves rain down in a wild swirl, pelting their faces.  The wind doesn’t die down after the initial gust, moaning eerily through the trees, and Erik can’t shake the sense that it feels _malevolent_ —the breath of something that means them harm.

“What is that?” Sean asks shakily, pointing at the sky.

Erik looks up, and where the sky had previously been clear and blue is now covered by a large black cloud that billows higher and higher as they watch.  It’s coming towards them, carried by the fell wind, and the forest is covered in shadow as it blocks out the sun entirely, pitching the land into a false darkness.

“Erik, you have to run!”

Erik looks around wildly, but there’s nothing, no _body_ to go with the voice that had been raised in a desperate shout—

Angel screams when the creatures emerge from the shadows, three of them scurrying out of the brush and running at them full-tilt, brandishing clubs and braying in an unintelligible language.  They look like something straight out of a nightmare, their faces twisted ghoulishly, and Erik pushes out in front of the children because he has to protect them, keep them safe from—

“The sword, Erik, get your sword!”

The voice doesn’t belong to any of the children but Erik doesn’t question it this time, instead whirling around to grab the wooden sword out of a frozen Alex’s hand because it’s better than nothing, and he spins around with a loud cry, bringing up the blade just in time to catch the first creature’s club just before it smashes into his face.

“Now again!”

Erik surges forward on command, slashing at the monster, reacting on pure instinct as he cuts it down and heads for the next, jabbing the wooden blade straight into its stomach, and all he knows is that he has to hit harder than they do and that there is still one more, so he has to be fast, so much faster—

“Erik!” Angel cries, and Erik whips around.

An enormous, hulking shape emerges slowly from the darkness, lumbering out into the clearing.  This monster is easily five times the size of the first three, and the club it carries is as tall as Erik is.  As he watches, frozen in place by shock and horror, the monster lifts a large, curved horn to its lips and lets out a long, ear-shattering blast that seems to reverberate through Erik’s entire body, his bones vibrating, and very suddenly everything seems very far away, the world swirling wildly and Erik can’t think straight or focus, but _he has to protect the children_ —

“Easy,” the voice whispers gently as everything fades away, “come down easily, it’s okay, everything will be alright…”

Darkness.

 

X

 

_But then, when all hope had died, and the hour of doom seemed at hand…_

 

X

 

It is bright here.

Erik wakes slowly, his perception drifting in gradually, and what is probably only moments feels like years as he comes to little by little, struggling up from the thick molasses of sleep.  When he finally is able to crack his eyes open it takes a few more moments for them to adjust to the brightness, spots dancing across his vision.

“Erik?”  Someone is leaning over him, blocking out some of the light, and a cool hand presses gently against his forehead.  “There you are.”

A face comes into view.  Charles.  It’s Charles.

Charles smiles.  “That’s right,” he says warmly, “it’s me.  You remember.”

Erik starts to nod—because of _course_ he remembers—but the movement makes the world spin so he quickly stops, giving Charles a chagrinned look.

“Just lie still,” Charles says reassuringly, “don’t try to move yet, it’s disorientating here at first.”

Erik is content to obey for the time being, because for some inexplicable reason he has unwavering trust in Charles.  His presence is calm and steady, and Erik uses him as a focus point as he waits for the world to steady, everything slowly coming into sharper view.

When it does, he can hardly believe his eyes.

He doesn’t try to turn his head again just yet, but he shifts his eyes to glance around at the scenery surrounding them.  Usually when he sees Charles—he dreams of Charles; yes, he _remembers_ now—they’re in a fancy sitting room, stiff with formality and pointed displays of wealth and power, but this time he’s lying in the middle of an ocean.

The water is flat calm, and he doesn’t feel wet even though he should, though it somehow seems as if he’s lying on _top_ of the surface instead of floating.  He realizes that it’s raining, only then when he looks closer, it’s _not_ —the drops of water are slowly rising up instead of falling down; the sea evaporating away before his very eyes in slow, so _slow_ , motion.  The rising water drops are glowing with tiny little sea creatures trapped floating within them that are giving off light, glimmering in the sky as the water drops slowly spiral upwards, high into the sky where a glittering ceiling of water shifts and shimmers—ah, so that’s where the brightness comes from—above them, trapping them between two solid walls of water.

“You’re dreaming,” Charles says softly, the glow of the lights reflecting in his impossibly blue eyes, “the monsters put you to sleep.  It’s only a dream.”

Erik tears his eyes away from the drifting water drops to look back at Charles.  He’s silhouetted by the glowing water, and for a moment looks ethereal; another strange figment of his imagination that his mind has dreamed up from the depths of his subconscious.

Charles shakes his head.  “I’m just as real as you are, my friend,” he says gently, “although I probably shouldn’t be here.  This is your dream, not mine.  But I followed you down because you need to wake up.  _I_ need you to wake up.  I think you’re the only one who can.”

Erik’s not quite sure that he understands, and gives a small frown.

“The monsters—the _nightmares_ —have put everyone to sleep,” Charles says, “even me.  But you’re able to fight them.  I think you’re the one who has to stop them.”

Erik shakes his head.  He’s just a simple ranch hand from Ordon Village.  He’s no…

“Please, Erik.”  Charles reaches down tentatively to card his fingers through Erik’s hair.  “Hyrule needs you.  The children need you.”  He pauses, and then adds softly, “I need you.”

The surface of the ocean trembles, ripples circling out from where Erik lays, the rings growing wider and wider as they stretch out into oblivion.  Overhead, the great wall of suspended water tremors as well, the rising water drops slowing to a complete halt in midair.

“Wake up, Erik.” Charles urges, speaking quickly.  More ripples are dancing across the surface of the ocean.  “You’ve got to wake up.  If you don’t then Hyrule will sleep forever, and the nightmares will only grow stronger and stronger as they feed on dreams.  An old, ancient evil has awakened, and you’re the only one who can stop it but you must wake up, you’ve _got to wake up_ —”

A blinding light shines out of the water overhead, so bright that Erik can only barely see Charles’ face.  He jumps when the first drop of water hits his face, and then more of the water drops are beginning to fall, plopping down into the ocean.  The light up above is unbearably bright now but Erik can’t look away, not from Charles, even as it rains, shimmering down around them in a wash of light and color.

“I’ll be there when you wake,” Charles is saying above the din of water crashing into water, “just open your eyes, Erik.  Wake up.”

But his eyes already _are_ open, he thinks, and then the ceiling of water shatters like glass, splintering into millions of water drops that all come hurtling down at once, a wall of light so bright that Erik clenches his eyes shut—

 

X

 

 

X

 

Erik opens his eyes.

It is night outside, but he can’t see the moon or the stars.  He sits up groggily, looking around.  He’s sitting in the middle of the clearing, completely alone, and around him the forest is eerily silent.  There’s not even a breeze, as if the entire world is holding its breath, waiting.

He pushes himself to his feet, brushing off leaves, and that’s when he notices—his clothes are different.  Through the dark he can just barely make out that his tunic is green now, and beneath it he can feel the slight weight of chainmail, the tiny links delicately woven so that together they are strong.  Brown leather gauntlets are tied to his forearms and instead of his worn sandals he has sturdy leather boots, which his tanned leggings are tucked neatly into.  He’s aware of something on his head and when he reaches up he discovers that it’s a hat, in the same green as his tunic, long and pointed.

“Hello, Hero,” comes a voice, the same voice as always, and this time when Erik looks his gaze finds Charles, stepping forward into the clearing and looking back at him with bright, hopeful blue eyes, “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

 

X

 

_…a young boy clothed in green appeared as if from nowhere._


	2. I won't let you down

Erik stumbles back in shock, nearly tripping over his own feet in the unfamiliar weight of the boots.  A figment of his imagination is walking towards him, and he has no idea what he’s doing out in the forest at this time of night, what is _happening_ to him—

“Erik.” Charles says, coming to a stop a few feet away.  He holds out his hands slowly in a placating manner, his voice soothing.  “It’s alright.  I’m not a dream.  I’m very real, my friend.  You remember me?”

He’s panting slightly, heart racing, but he’s gradually starting to calm.  Charles.  He remembers Charles.  His fingers are twitching, itching to—yes, of course, his sword, how could he forget?  He reaches back over his shoulder and grips the smooth, wooden hilt, drawing the blade up and—he stops in dismay.

“Broken,” Charles says softly, his eyes on the jagged end of the blade where the beautifully carved wood has been snapped in half, “I was afraid of that.  You’ll need something stronger to fight the monsters, though.  You’ll need steel.”

Erik looks up slowly from the broken blade to Charles’ face again, still unsure.

“Listen to me, very carefully, my friend,” Charles says when Erik meets his gaze, “the monsters have put everyone to sleep, but you’ve managed to wake up.  If you defeat them, it might allow all of your friends to wake up too.  Please.”  His voice nearly drops off, his kind face determined yet beseeching.  “I need your help.”

Erik hesitates for only a moment longer, but then he nods.  He knows Charles.  Or at least knows him from his dreams—because he can recall them now, _all_ of them: long hours spent in Charles’ company each night, in that formal, circular room at the top of a tower, listening to Charles talk about anything and everything, over endless games of chess.

Charles’ mouth quirks in a small smile.  “Yes.  I enjoyed our games too.”  His smile fades, and he grows serious again.  “But we don’t have much time.  Is there anywhere you can find a new sword?”

Erik thinks for a moment, and then he has it—of course.

“Excellent,” Charles says, and then continues, “oh, but it’s in the village.  You’ll have to be sneaky then.  The monsters have probably congregated there, where everyone is sleeping.”

Erik slides the broken blade back over his shoulder, because at least it’s better than having nothing.  He takes off through the trees at a run, relying on his sense of direction to guide him back through the forest he knows so well.  When he glances back, Charles is following along behind him, but that’s odd, it’s almost like he’s—

Erik nearly runs into a tree in shock when he sees Charles glide right _through_ a tree.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Charles says as he comes to a stop, sounding chagrined, “I should explain.  I _am_ real, I swear.”  He chuckles self-deprecatingly.  “That doesn’t sound very reassuring, does it?”

Erik stares at him.

“As I said, monsters have put everyone to sleep, including me,” Charles explains, “but I’m able to project my dream-self into the waking world.  I’m really sorry,” he says suddenly, sounding worried, “I should have asked.  I’m using your mind as an anchor of sorts, to hold on to and keep my form here.  That’s why I can hear your thoughts even though we’re no longer in a dream.”  He pauses, visibly hesitating.  “I should have asked,” he repeats, “and I didn’t mean to intrude, my friend.  If you want I can stop.”

Erik raises an eyebrow.

Charles nods.  “Well—yes.  It’d be much harder for me to stay here.  Using you as an anchor helps me keep focused on this location.”

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Erik reaches out towards him, stopping when his fingers are centimeters away from Charles’ face.  Charles doesn’t move, holding perfectly still and looking up at him, calm and unblinking.

With a small frown, Erik closes the rest of the tiny gap, brushing his fingers across Charles’ cheek.  The other boy is solid to the touch, his skin cool just as it had been in the dreams.  Charles closes his eyes for a brief moment and seems to lean into the touch, a plant seeking sunlight, and when Erik suddenly grows self-conscious and pulls his fingers quickly away, Charles opens his eyes again with a small, chagrined smile.

“You’re able to touch me because your mind makes me solid and real,” he says, watching Erik’s face, “since I’m using you as an anchor.  Please.”  He becomes almost achingly sincere.  “May I stay linked with you?”

Erik hesitates only for a split second before he jerks his shoulders in a shrug of permission.  Charles has a great deal more knowledge of what’s going on; to banish him now would be folly.  He trusts Charles.  Charles—this boy from his dreams—won’t cause him harm.

Charles smiles, bright even in the dark.  “Thank you very much, my friend.  I’ll do my utmost to guide you as best as I possibly can.”  Now he reaches out, placing one hand flat against Erik’s chest lightly.  “I won’t let you down.”

Erik shifts almost uneasily at the promise.  Charles is unlike anyone he’s ever met, both a complete mystery and yet still so familiar.  Still, there’s no mistaking Charles’ honesty.  Erik sets off through the forest towards the village again before any more can be said, Charles easily keeping up with him, gliding like a specter.

He comes to a halt just behind the gate, peering into town.  The village torches have been lit, and the flames flicker in the darkness, glowing pinpricks of light that cast long shadows.  None of the villagers are in sight, but he counts six of the monsters patrolling back and forth, spread out along the main path and in between some of the houses, each of them carrying a club.

“Bokoblins,” Charles murmurs, looking over Erik’s shoulder at the creatures, “not very strong or intelligent, but they’re still nightmares.  Once you get a better sword, you’ll be able to defeat them easily.”

Erik watches them carefully.  He’d taken them out easily enough with just his wooden sword.  His eyes find Alex’s house, sitting up a little ways from the rest of the homes on top of a small hill.  Two more of the nightmares stand guard on the front porch.

Charles follows his gaze.  “Is that where you can find a better sword?”

Erik recalls Alex’s father.  _Back when I was your age, my father made me a sword just like this one._

“The next gift would have been a real sword,” Charles observes quietly, “so he must still have his.  Good thinking, Erik.”

Erik nods, determined.  He isn’t a thief, but he has no choice if he wants to defeat the nightmares and free the village.  Alex’s father won’t mind if he borrows it.

“They’re expecting you,” Charles says, “so you’ll have to be sneaky.  You mustn’t be caught.”  When Erik glances back at him, he finds him worrying his lower lip anxiously.  “Is there any way you can take cover?”

Erik looks around, searching for anything that could work.  His eyes land on a couple of tall barrels tucked into a crevice of rock on the edge of the village only several yards away.

Charles smiles.  “Perfection.”

Erik creeps forward through the gate, wincing when the hinges creak a little, but the Bokoblin closest to him doesn’t seem to notice, too busy prodding at a pumpkin with the end of its club.  Erik hugs the wall of rock, doing his best to keep out of any stray beams of light from the torches and sticking to the shadows, and keeping his eyes lowered to prevent them from gleaming out of the darkness tellingly.

He reaches the crevice where the barrels are, quickly squeezing in beside them.  The first barrel is full of water and would be too noisy to dump out, but the second is empty.  He hoists it up overhead and turns it upside down, lowering it over himself.  Standing up, the barrel doesn’t quite cover his shins and feet, but if he crouches down, he’s completely out of sight.

Then he remembers Charles, and quickly lifts the barrel up again—only to find that he is alone.

 _Relax, my friend_ , comes Charles’ voice directly in his head after Erik has looked around wildly for a moment _, I’m still with you.  Right now it’s easier if I don’t project my full body.  If the nightmares were to see me, they’d be able to attack—but this way they won’t see me,_ he says quickly, sensing Erik’s alarm, _and I’ll still be able to guide you._

Erik is forced to agree, even though it makes him uneasy.  He’d assumed that besides himself, Charles was untouchable.

 _They’re figments from the mind, just as I am in this form_ , Charles says gently, _so they’d be able to harm me.  But I know you’ll keep me safe._

Freshly resolute, Erik slips back underneath the barrel once more.

_Alright, my friend.  Move slowly, and if I tell you to stop, drop down immediately.  Start off to your right._

Erik does as Charles instructs, following the voiceless commands.  He can slowly feel himself making his way up the hill towards Alex’s house, if the gentle slope of the ground is anything to go by.  Twice Charles commands him to freeze and Erik crouches down obediently, letting the barrel drop, and doesn’t move until Charles gives him the okay.

 _Stop!_   Charles cries on the third time, far more urgently than he had the first two, sounding panicked.  _I didn’t see him coming around the side of the house.  Don’t move, Erik, don’t move._

Erik stays completely still, nearly holding his breath as the distinct sounds of something snuffling through the grass draws closer and closer.

 _Only a Bokoblin_ , Charles whispers, even though he could probably shout in Erik’s mind and no one but Erik would hear, _but if he discovers you, he’ll call for backup.  Stay still, stay still._

He can sense the nightmare circling the barrel, muttering to itself in its strange, jabbering language.  He tenses when he hears the sound of sniffing—surely it must know he’s here now—but nothing happens.

 _He’s moving away_ , Charles says a beat later, sounding relieved, _but stay still for just a few moments longer, in case he turns around again._

Eventually Charles deems it safe enough for him to move again, so Erik creeps forward, moving even more slowly than he had been before at Charles’ nervous request.  Erik feels oddly calm, despite the fact that he should probably be brimming with nerves.  It feels good, he realizes, to be _doing_.  The restless feeling he’s always had in his bones is, for once, sated.

He’s never felt this way before.

 _Okay, stop_ , Charles says eventually, _you’ve reached the side of the house.  There are still two Bokoblin standing guard on the porch and the third one is currently around the far side, but I imagine he’ll circle back soon.  What now?_

Cautiously, Erik lifts the barrel up and over his head, taking in a deep breath of fresh air.  He hadn’t realized how stuffy it had been getting.  True to Charles’ word, he finds himself pressed close to one side of Alex’s house, fortunately well-covered by the dark of the night.  He turns and is satisfied to discover that he’s right in front of the shed Alex’s father built alongside the house, dark and silent and just tall enough for Erik’s purposes.

He jumps up to grab onto the edge of the shed’s flat roof and pulls himself up with only minor scrabbling for purchase, crawling up on top of the sturdy wooden structure and not a moment too soon—he presses himself down flat as the third Bokoblin rounds the corner of the house, lying still as it passes and never thinks to look up.

As soon as the nightmare has rounded the corner again, continuing its patrol none the wiser, Erik straightens again, pushing himself up to his feet and then climbing up onto the roof of the actual house, boots clattering softly on the shingles.  From up here, he can see the entirety of the village—the Bokoblins are still patrolling, and luckily there’s no moon in the dark sky to silhouette him or otherwise Erik realizes he’d be making a beacon of himself by lingering.

He turns quickly, climbing up the slope of the roof to where the chimney is, peering down inside.  He can see nothing but darkness, so no fire is lit at the bottom, which is better.  Without giving himself time to think, Erik climbs up on top of the chimney, tucks his arms in tight against his body, and then drops down inside.

He hits the ground in a crouch, freezing for a moment with his eyes straining against the darkness.  He hadn’t really thought about what he’d do if there were more Bokoblin inside.

Instead of monsters, only Charles flickers into view, glowing slightly in the dark so that Erik can see him—it’s a neat trick.  “Well done, Erik,” he says, and it’s a relief to see him and hear his actual voice again, “that was brilliant.”

Erik crawls out of the fireplace and straightens, brushing black soot off of his green tunic.  Alex’s house is dark and quiet, the only light sources being Charles’ soft glow and then the occasional flicker of flames from one of the torches outside.

“They’re only sleeping,” Charles says softly when he sees Erik looking at Alex’s mother, father, and younger brother slumped on the couch, curled together, “don’t worry.”

Erik looks around, but there’s no sign of Alex.

“I don’t know where he is,” Charles admits, “all of the children were gone by the time I found you in the forest.  You were alone.”

Erik rubs his arm uneasily.  That can’t be good.

“The sword, Erik,” Charles reminds him, not unkindly, “the sooner you defeat the nightmares, the sooner Ordon will be safe and the sooner you can search for the children.”

Erik nods.  Charles is right.  One thing at a time.

He’s never really been inside Alex’s house before but it doesn’t take long to spot his father’s sword, proudly displayed above the mantle in its sheath.  Erik removes it from the wall hooks carefully, holding the sheath in one hand while gripping the worn leather hilt in the other, slowly drawing the blade with a sharp scrape of metal on leather, lifting the blade up to glint in the dim light.

“You’ve got the heirloom sword!”  Charles remarks, watching him.  “The blade has been kept sharp, so wield it carefully.”

Erik can picture Alex’s father carefully honing the blade to keep it sharp and ready, even in their peaceful little village, while Alex and his brother watch with wide, curious eyes.  He pulls the broken wooden sword off his back, and after a moment’s hesitation, he hangs it up in place of the steel blade above the mantle—a promise that he’ll return their family sword soon.

He slings the new sheath over his shoulders and across his back, and then gives his new blade an experimental twirl, enjoying how it is light and lithe in his hand, before slipping it back into the sheath with another satisfying scrape.  He’s ready.

“Erik,” Charles says from over by the window, “come look.  Carefully.”

Erik makes his way across the living room and then sidles up beside Charles, careful to keep the majority of his body along the wall and out of sight in case he needs to duck down quickly.  Charles doesn’t even glance at him, his face tight with worry as he peers outside.

Erik follows his gaze.  The Bokoblin have all gathered in the middle of the village, easily visible from Alex’s house on the hill, and at their center is the same huge monster from the forest—hulking and massive, it still carries its giant horn and club, beady red eyes glowing in the firelight.

“His name is Cain,” Charles says softly, shadows dancing across his face as the firelight flickers, “he was once a human like you and I, but was twisted by an evil power into…that.”

Erik wonders how Charles knows this—how Charles knows about _any_ of this.  He only knows Charles from his dreams, and while he does trust him, he still doesn’t know who Charles really _is_.

“All in good time, my friend.”  Charles slides his gaze away from the monsters outside to give Erik a small but no less warm smile.  “I promise I’ll explain.  But first your village needs to be saved, right?”  His eyes dart back to the window, his smile fading.  “It’s too dangerous to fight Cain here.  Especially with that horn, he’ll only—”

Charles is interrupted by the thundering of hooves, and Erik watches in amazement as an enormous boar stampedes into the village, bowling over one of the Bokoblin before coming to a stuttering halt in front of the monster Cain.  Cain ignores his shrieking underling, swinging himself up into the saddle that the boar wears and giving his mount a kick, riding off out of the village with the ground trembling in his wake.

“I fear that we will be seeing him again, sooner than we’d like,” Charles says in the silence that follows, as the remaining Bokoblin spread out again, “but for now, we should use this opportunity to the fullest.”

Erik turns away from the window, brimming with readiness.  He feels no fear as he crosses the living room, headed towards the front door.  If these monsters really only are nightmares, then they will be easily banished.

“I’ll be with you.” Charles says, tapping his own temple with two fingers, and when Erik nods in acknowledgement he flickers out of view.

Erik takes a breath and then opens the door and draws his sword.

Two of the Bokoblin have returned to the porch, but they aren’t even close to expecting an attack from behind.  Erik cuts them both down easily, his movements quick and precise, silencing them before they can so much as howl to alert the others.  The steel blade is much more effective than the wooden one—where he had needed several strikes before, now he only needs two.

_Erik!_

Charles’ mental cry comes a split second before Erik senses motion behind him and he whirls, catching the third Bokoblin that had been circling the house right in the face before it can bash his head in with its upraised club.  This time his enemy gets out a shriek, which quickly cuts off as Erik stabs at it again, making it vanish in a puff of black smoke.

Erik stops for a moment, panting, nearly relishing in the adrenaline that is pumping through his veins despite his close call.  It’s not the killing that’s making him feel alive—it’s the _doing_ ; the being in motion, having a sword in his hand.  He was born for this, he suddenly knows clear as daylight, this is who and what he was meant to be.

 _The Hero_ , Charles whispers in the back of his mind, and Erik doesn’t know what he means by that but it certainly feels right.  The title seems to fit him just as his strange new clothes do—perfectly.  _You truly are the one_.

Erik doesn’t hesitate at all and takes off down the hill, sword at the ready.

The next Bokoblin he also catches by surprise, attacking it from behind with a swift horizontal slice.  This time however their brief scuffle is close enough for another of the Bokoblins to overhear and come running with a hoarse cry, brandishing its club.  It takes a wild swing at Erik but he leaps back out of the way, almost losing his balance for a moment before he reclaims it again and lunges forward, thrusting his sword into the nightmare’s stomach, ending it.

Not counting the three Bokoblins guarding Alex’s house, Erik had counted six of them patrolling the village.  Two down, four to go.

At a brisk jog, Erik continues down the path.  He can’t see any more of the nightmares from here, but that doesn’t mean they’re lurking between houses or behind bushes.  The village has gotten eerily silent now, and Erik feels as if his breathing is too loud as he slows to a halt, narrowing his eyes to peer through the shadows.

 _Courage_ , Charles tells him, _you have plenty of it, just remember_.

Erik twirls his sword, spinning it in a lazy arc, and then runs between Angel’s house and Sean’s house.  He nearly crashes headlong into a Bokoblin as it rounds the corner, smashing its club into his shoulder.  It’s only a glancing blow, rendered more out of surprise than actual intent, so Erik grits his teeth and slashes back, making the nightmare throw back its head and howl, the sound echoing eerily through the silent village.  He can hear the other three howling back in unison, and it’s only a matter of time before they come running so he quickly finishes his current opponent off with a cry, leaping up high and smashing his blade down across the Bokoblin’s skull.

 _Two more coming this way_ , Charles warns him, and Erik turns in time to see them scurrying forward from the direction of Hank’s house in their strange, loping gait, headed straight towards him.

Erik’s first strike catches the faster of the two across the chest and the Bokoblin hisses, swinging at him with its club.  Erik ducks underneath, ready to deal his finishing blow but by that time the second nightmare has caught up and Erik is forced to drop and roll to the side in order to avoid being bludgeoned.

Somewhat clumsily, he turns the roll into a recover, rolling all the way back up to his feet.  The second Bokoblin has stumbled after him, swinging, and he smashes his sword into its club, his arm jarring horribly for a moment before he forces both sword and club to swing down, hitting the nightmare in the legs.  The Bokoblin snarls in pain, collapsing, and Erik takes the opportunity to wrench his sword back out of the wooden club and slam the blade through the nightmare’s chest.

A whistling sound through the air is all the warning he gets before the first Bokoblin’s club smashes into the side of his head.  Erik drops, vision reeling dizzily, everything a confusing blur as he tries to get up, scrabbling for his sword that he’s dropped, because one more hit like that and he’s—

“No!” Charles shouts, loud and imperious, followed by a wet choking sound.  “I will _not_ allow you to harm him.”

Erik’s vision clears.  He’s on his hands and knees on the ground, his left hand inches from the hilt of his sword, but he only has eyes for Charles.

Charles stands in front of him, back turned, rematerialized into his full body, and he seems to glow with a bright golden light, so pure that it almost hurts to look at directly.  His arms are extended outward, thrusting a dagger forward into the belly of the Bokoblin with both hands, saving Erik from being destroyed.

The Bokoblin chokes again, mouth moving voicelessly, and then disappears in a puff of black smoke.

Charles lowers his arms slowly, still clutching his dagger tightly with both hands, and Erik can see how shaky he is.  His golden glow slowly fades, until he’s normal again, only a faint glow illuminating him through the darkness.

Erik grabs his sword and slips it back over his shoulder into its sheath as he climbs to his feet.  Without thinking he grabs Charles by the shoulders, and is startled when the shorter boy nearly sags in his grip.

“I’m alright,” he says, sounding a little dazed, “I just surprised even myself.  That took up a lot of energy.  But I couldn’t allow you to be hurt.”

Erik turns him around so that they’re facing one another, studying his face critically.  Charles looks slightly pale, the brush of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose standing out a little more than Erik thinks is usual, but he appears unscathed and even manages a small smile as he looks back up at Erik, blue eyes warm.

“Thank you, my friend.”  Charles straightens again, slipping his dagger into the small loop on his belt.  “It appears you’re not the only one with courage,” he says with a small laugh.  “After all, I did promise to help you.  But I think in the future I’ll leave the muscle to you.”  He hesitates uncertainly.  “Do you find me cowardly?”

Erik shakes his head adamantly.  It makes sense for him to do the fighting.  He’s the one with the proper sword—while obviously sharp, Charles’ dagger isn’t going to be nearly sufficient enough as a primary weapon.  He needs Charles more as his guide than his sortie companion—at this point, Charles’ wisdom is invaluable.

Charles smiles.  “My wisdom.  Well, that’s certainly one way to put it.”

Erik becomes aware that their current position has brought their faces very close; he’s almost able to start counting the smaller boy’s freckles.  Maybe in a better light—he blinks, shaking his head slightly, and feeling slightly mortified because Charles is probably overhearing _all_ of this, whatever it is, and Erik’s not sure what’s gotten into him.

Except Charles is staring back at him, endless pools of deep blue, and neither of them seem willing to move, either to move closer or pull away, and for a moment Erik is holding his breath, waiting for something, _anything_ to happen because now that he’s stopped the restless feeling is back, and the moment to move is now, now, _now_ —

Charles blinks and the spell is broken.  “Um, I do believe that there is still one more nightmare left to vanquish, my friend.”  Erik can’t tell in the dark, but he might be blushing.

Erik lets him go, inexplicably feeling heat on his own cheeks as he quickly steps away, drawing his sword again.  Charles is right.  He’s— _they’ve_ —only killed five out of the six.

“I’ll just—er.  Right.”  Charles flickers out of sight again, and a moment later Erik is certain that he can feel him settling into the back of his mind again, curling up like one of Hank’s mother’s cats.

It’s not an uncomfortable sensation.  Erik actually almost likes it.

He doesn’t examine too closely what that means, and starts off through the village again in search of their last foe.

He finds it near the entrance of the village, still enthralled enough by the pumpkin patch to not notice that its fellows are missing.  Erik makes short work of it, striking quickly, and then the last monster is finally gone—Ordon Village is safe.

Erik sheathes his sword, weary despite his earlier energy.  The black cloud over the village has begun to dissipate, and the first few streaks of light are beginning to leak across the sky as the sun starts to rise, banishing the darkness.

Charles flickers back into view, more easily visible now that dawn is coming and he doesn’t have to glow.  Erik takes him in, his blue tunic that only serves to enhance his blue eyes, and the soft lines of his body—he’s not built like Erik is, but his compact frame still holds strength, and a lot of it, if they way he’d run the nightmare through was any kind of indication.  He seems elegant but is far from delicate.

Charles seems unaware of how Erik is watching him, looking out across the village with a small frown.  “They’re not waking up,” he says, troubled, “why aren’t they waking up?”

Erik looks over.  Dawn has broken, more and more daylight spilling across the village, and yet none of the villagers are emerging from their homes, confused and muddled by their enchanted sleep.  A cold prickle of uncertainly trails down Erik’s back—what if defeating the nightmares is not enough?

“Look.”  Charles lifts and arm, pointing back towards the forest.

Erik turns.  The sunrise has not banished all of the darkness—it gathers like a large, angry cloud above the trees.  It comes no closer to the village, but it is clear that it is still near enough to hold the villagers under its sway.

“There are tales of an old temple in Faron Woods,” Charles says, looking back over to Erik, “are they true?”

Erik nods slowly.  He’s seen the entrance to the temple once before, on a long ride through the woods on Magneta.  The legends say that the temple was built in homage to an old forest spirit by people that have long since passed from the land.  He recalls the vine-covered entrance vaguely and remembers trying to pry the thick, wooden boards blocking the entrance away, though they hadn’t budged.

“I think something evil has settled there,” Charles says, “and if we want to release the villagers from the spell, we’re going to have to find out what.”

Grimly, Erik can only believe that Charles is right.  As much as he wants to begin searching for the children, he can’t in good conscious leave the villagers trapped in unnatural sleep.  According to Charles, the entirety of Hyrule is asleep, so perhaps finding out what lies in wait at the temple in the woods will begin to help break the evil magic.

“You’re right,” Charles says, looking determined, “thank you, Erik.  If anyone can do it, it’ll be you.  Although,” he admits, glancing back at the darkness over the forest, “it might not be a bad idea to stock up on as much supplies as you can.”

The door to Hank’s mother’s shop is unlocked when Erik tries the handle so he steps inside quickly, feeling slightly guilty about what he intends to do.  He’ll pay her back double, he vows, slipping behind the counter of the small, dusty shop, and he’ll do it as soon as possible.

He has no use for the bee honey that she bottles, but he finds another glass bottle full of something considerably less thick than the honey but he can’t figure out what it is.  He’s just about to put it down and move on when Charles calls, “Erik, look at this.”

There’s an old chest beneath the counter, and Erik crouches down to open it, digging around until his fingers hit something cold and hard.  He lifts his find up out of the chest and holds it up to where they can see what it is in the light.

“You’ve got the lantern!” Charles remarks.  “That’ll be perfect when we’re trying to get to the temple through the darkness.”

Erik glances down at the glass bottle he’d put on the floor before reaching into the chest.  Ah.  Lantern oil.  From what he can tell, the lantern itself is already full, but it certainly won’t hurt to carry extra oil for when it inevitably runs out.

He straightens from his crouch, tucking both the lantern and the bottle of oil away for safekeeping.  Besides that, he can’t find anything else worth carrying that would be immediately beneficial.  He’s got a sword, his slingshot was still in his pouch, and now a lantern plus extra lantern oil…

“What about a shield?” Charles asks suddenly.  “There must be something in the village that you can use as a shield.  You’re going to need one.”

Erik draws a blank at first, before he remembers—of course.

He slips back out of the shop, taking care to shut the door behind him, and then quickly jogs up the path.  He considers for a moment stopping to take in the village one last time but in the end he doesn’t look back; only forward as he runs past the gate and back into the forest towards his house.  He’ll return one day.

“Your home is lovely,” Charles says immediately upon arriving in the clearing.  He drifts upward in midair as Erik quickly climbs up the ladder to his front door.  “I used to catch bits and snatches of it in your dreams, but seeing it for real is…nice.”

Erik thinks of the formal sitting room as he steps inside his far more humble abode, Charles gliding in after him.

“I come from Castle Town,” Charles says quietly, his voice distant as if his thoughts are miles away, “it’s very different there compared to Ordon Village.”  He falls silent after that, and Erik leaves him be.

The old shield has hung on the wall for as long as Erik can remember, its delicate carvings long since faded into obscurity.  He doesn’t know where it came from or who it once belonged to, but when he reaches up to lift it reverently from the wall, the wood feels solid and sturdy in his grip.

“You’ve got the wooden shield,” Charles pipes up, drawn back out of his thoughts, “it looks a little old, but it’ll certainly do for now.”

Erik slings the shield across his back.  It falls perfectly into place over his sword, the weight settling evenly.  Now he’s armed to attack and defend.  He’s ready.

“We’d better go,” Charles says gently when Erik does stop this time, looking around his home, “you’ll be back.  You were born to be mobile.  The hardest part is taking the first step.  After that it’s easy.”

Erik nods.  His body has always desired to move.  Charles may just be right.

When he climbs back down the ladder again, he stoops to pick a stalk of grass, bringing it up to his lips and blowing three high notes, rising and falling in pitch.

Nothing happens.

He stands still for a moment.  Magneta always comes.  But this time there is no answering whinny; no drum of hoof beats to signal her arrival, galloping to him no matter how far away she is.  This time, he’s on his own.

“You’re not alone, Erik,” Charles says beside him, “you’ve got me.”

This is true, and Erik thinks that it will be enough.  With Charles at his side, Erik takes off through the forest at a run, his pace steady and tireless, and the blade of grass flutters back down to the ground in his wake.


	3. We'll have to be ready for anything

The forest path is long and meandering but Erik makes good time, his boots sturdy and worn as if he’s been wearing them for years and not hours.  The sun is high in the sky by the time he reaches the point in the forest where the dark cloud hovers, casting deep shadows.

He comes to a stop, panting lightly.  Charles pulls up short beside him.

“Are you afraid of the dark, Erik?” he asks, looking straight ahead into the gloom.

Erik shakes his head as he pulls out the lantern, its flame casting a circle of light around him.

“Neither am I.” Charles agrees softly.  “Though they say that the deepest kinds of darkness are within us.  Odd, isn’t it, that we prefer to live in the light yet we harbor shadows within our hearts.”

Before he can stop himself, Erik reaches over to put his free hand on Charles’ shoulder.

Charles seems to give himself a shake, looking over to give Erik a small smile.  “Well, there’s no truer saying than the closer one stands to light, the greater one’s shadow becomes.  Let’s go.”

Erik lets his hand drop back down to his side, and then walks forward into the darkness.

Whereas the forest still reached by the sun had been full of birdsong and the buzz of insects, the forest here is as silent as it is dark.  The woods seems to be holding its breath, waiting—though for what, Erik couldn’t say.  The further he walks the darker it seems to become, the sunlight behind him fading into obscurity and leaving him with his lantern as the only source of light, illuminating the path in front of him and small radius on either side.

Charles stays close, pacing alongside Erik with his arms wrapped around himself.  Charles shivers.  “There is strong malice here,” he says, “I can feel it.”

Even as he speaks, the hair on the back of Erik’s neck stands on end, and suddenly he’s under attack.

“Keese!” Charles cries as Erik drops the lantern and rolls to avoid being dive-bombed by the cloud of black bat-like creatures that have flitted down from the tree branches overhead, shrieking and snapping their teeth.

Erik jumps up to his feet and draws his sword, readying his shield in his right hand.  It only takes a few well-aimed slashes of the blade to vanquish the small monsters, and they die with defiant screams as they burst into black clouds.  Two of the Keese attack Charles, swooping at him with their sharp claws extended, but Erik gets there first, taking them both out with his sword before they have a chance to land so much as a scratch.

“Well done, Erik,” Charles says as soon as the forest is silent again, no more leathery wing beats audible on the still air, “it was probably the light that attracted them in the first place.  We can’t see without it, though, so you’ll just have to be on your guard.”

Erik picks up the lantern again and ties it to his belt, keeping his sword out and at the ready.  This time his pace is brisker, following along the path as it appears before him.  It is less meandering here and more direct—if he’s remembering correctly, they’re getting close to the old temple.

They’re attacked twice more by flocks of Keese, and each time Erik makes short work of them, allowing no harm to come to Charles.  His sword and shield are already familiar weights in his hands, his movements with them both graceful and fluid.  He can’t explain how naturally he’s picked up swordplay, taking to it so quickly and seamlessly, as if he’s been training his whole life instead of only for a day.

He’s found a part of himself that he hadn’t even realized was missing.

At one point the lantern flame begins to sputter, flickering as the last of the oil runs out and Erik has to fumble in the dark for a few moments, digging for the glass bottle containing the extra oil.  Finally his fingers close around it and Charles moves closer, glowing again just as he had back in Alex’s house, allowing Erik to use his light to pour the oil into the lantern.  As soon as the flame is relit, Charles’ glow dims and fades.

“It takes a lot of energy to keep it up,” he explains, overhearing Erik’s silent question, “it wears me out much more quickly.”  He gives a light laugh, sheepish.  “I’m glad you found that lantern.”

Their light source restored, Erik continues along the path.  They’ve come quite a distance from Ordon Village now, so he feels that they must be getting close.  He’s so focused on looking down and keeping to the path that he doesn’t realize they’ve reached their destination until he hears Charles’ intake of breath in wonder and looks up quickly only to come to a jarring halt.

The temple entrance is just as he remembers.  The forest itself comes to a definite end on the edge of a cliff, the abyss below unfathomable—even the light of his lantern cannot penetrate the absolute darkness below.  Lit torches line the rest of the way to the entrance of the temple itself, which is across the wide maw of the chasm, only reachable by the extension of one long, thick tree branch.

“Amazing,” Charles says in awe, his voice hushed in reverence.  “I’ve heard stories about the temple, but some of them seemed so wild that I half-believed it wasn’t real.”

Erik should probably be looking at the temple too, but instead he only has eyes for Charles—the way his blue eyes are wide with wonder, reflecting the dancing flames of the torches—who is for some reason far more captivating than an old relic from the ancient past and for a few spellbound moments, Erik can’t look away.

“This is definitely where the darkness is originating from,” Charles says, growing grim, “so we’ll have to proceed with the utmost caution, Erik.”  He tears his eyes away from the temple and looks over, clear eyes sincere.  “I know you can do it, Erik.  I believe in you.”

Erik tightens his grip on his sword and shield.  He’s not afraid, he realizes as he jogs up the tree branch towards the entrance of the temple.  He feels nothing but steely determination.  He will defeat whatever monsters are lurking in the old temple and banish the darkness, which will hopefully break the spell on the villagers and allow them to wake up.

With Charles at his side, Erik is fairly certain that he can do anything.

When he’d stumbled upon the temple so many months ago while out riding Magneta, he’d climbed up this way before out of curiosity. He’d ran up the tree branch but only made it as far as the door of the temple, which had been blocked by huge pieces of wood that he’d been unable to budge at the time.  Magneta had whickered at him from where she’d been waiting at the edge of the chasm and Erik had given up, figuring that it was about time for him to head home anyway.

The huge boards are still in place, firmly blocking the doorway, but this time Erik has an idea.  He re-sheathes his sword and slings his shield across his back so he can untie the lantern from his belt and light the boards on fire, stepping back to let them burn.  They go up in flames fairly quickly, and when the fire dies the wood is charred and blackened.

Erik douses the flame and tucks the lantern away for the time being, and then redraws his sword.

“Haa!”  With one huge swing, he smashes his blade down on the weakened wood and the boards crumble—the way is clear.  Erik slips his sword back over his shoulder and then steps forward to push the heavy stone door to the side with a small grunt.

“The Forest Temple,” Charles murmurs as they step inside, the door rolling shut behind them.

The air inside the temple is thick and heavy and probably hasn’t been disturbed in quite some time.  Erik feels the musk of the place pooling in his lungs with each breath he takes, making it hard to breathe at first until he gets used to it, opening his mouth for a few moments to compensate.  More flickering torches give light and cast long, dancing shadows, and their glow gives Erik just enough light to get a general view of the room they’ve walked into.

It’s small, the doorway to the next room clearly visible at the other end, though it looks like it’s been locked with chains.  Patches of moldy grass grow here and there, and two tall totem poles stand on either side of the short ramp leading up to the door.

“We have to find a key,” Charles says, squinting across the room, “it must be somewhere close.”

Erik hasn’t even taken a step forward when he’s attacked.

A plant head rises up out of the scraggly grass, jaws snapping viciously, and Erik is so startled for a moment that he freezes, until he sees Charles leaping back out of the way with a startled yelp.  He draws his sword and hacks at the plant with a cry, beating it back with all of his strength.  The plant snarls, lunging at him, and Erik thrusts his blade through its face—it dies with a scream.

He’s panting, heart pounding, as Charles says shakily, “A Baba Serpent.  Nightmares come in all kinds of forms.  We’ll have to be ready for anything.”

Another plant attacks them halfway through the room and this time Erik slays it quickly, his blade strokes more efficient now that the element of surprise is no longer a factor.

They’re level with the two totem poles now, and Erik takes a moment to study them.  None of their carvings make any sense, and they seem almost out of place, rising up into the gloom that the high ceiling brings.  He squints—there’s something on top of each of them.

Charles follows his gaze.  “You can’t climb them, so how…?”

Erik takes a few steps backwards, gaging the distance carefully.  Then he darts forward, tucking his head down and aiming a rolling kick at the base of the first pole.  His leg jars a little on contact but the pole trembles, shaking back and forth for a moment and Erik has to roll out of the way when the object on top of it comes tumbling down to the ground.

It’s an old, wooden chest and when Erik kicks it open, there’s not much inside.

“You’ve got the dungeon map!” Charles remarks, stepping closer to peer at the old, musty parchment that Erik lifts out of the chest carefully, afraid at first that it will crumble to dust.  “Oh, this will be so useful to have…”

He’s peering down at the partially faded lines intently and Erik probably should be too, but right now all he can focus on is how close they’re standing, Charles a cool line of presence directly beside him.  They’re not quite touching, but another few centimeters and they’d be pressed close.

Whether it’s by Erik’s thoughts or his own realization, Charles looks up suddenly, clearing his throat as he takes a couple steps back.  “Right.  Well you’d better hold onto that, I think we want to get to the inner-most chamber and that’ll show us the way.  Unfortunately it didn’t say anything about a key for that lock, though.”  He’s looking around the room, pointedly keeping his gaze away from Erik’s direction so Erik can’t see his face.

Erik swallows, because he’s not sure what it means, and rolls the map up carefully to tuck into his pouch.  There is a charge like a livewire between them.

Aiming another rolling kick at the second pole yields another chest, and this time when Erik kicks it open he finds a small, silver key resting on the bottom that can only be meant for one thing.

“You’ve got the key!”  Charles smiles, bright and full.  “Well done.”

The key slots perfectly into the lock and when Erik gives it a twist, it clicks open and the chains fall away with a noisy rattle.  Erik exchanges a glance with Charles and then pushes the door to the side.

The next room is much larger than the first, lit by more torches.  The floor is low, sunken into the ground, and Erik trots down old, rickety wooden stairs to reach the bottom.  In front of him is another set of wooden stairs leading up to a tall platform that sits in the center of the room.  Erik starts up them, figuring that it’s the best vantage point, and then a massive spider drops down from the ceiling directly in front of them.

“Skulltula!” Charles shouts.

Erik brings his sword out in a swing, slashing at the monster as it rears up on its spindly legs, hissing furiously.  He ducks as one of its legs lashes out at him, and then thrusts upwards with his blade, catching its soft underbelly.

The Skulltula shrinks back, giving off a loud wailing sound as it curls in on itself, hunched on the stairs and writhing.  Erik looks down at it in confusion, because usually when he cuts them down the monsters go up in a cloud of black smoke and disappear instantly.

“Kill it!” Charles cries over the awful sound, his eyes wide, “Erik, just kill it!”

Erik blinks, snapping out of it, and with one final cry he leaps forward and buries his sword into the monster’s head with both hands, slamming down with all the force that he can muster.  The Skulltula dies, finally poofing out of existence, and leaves behind a ringing silence.

“Are you alright?” Charles asks, his voice sounding unnaturally loud.  He takes a step or two close again but then stops, twisting his hands together for a moment as if he longs to reach out.

Erik nods slowly, still holding his sword out.  He’s unharmed, but the lingering death of the nightmare has given him pause.  All of the ones before had gone down so easily and yet this one…

“Normally I do not endorse killing,” Charles says quietly, looking up at Erik, “but if it’s going to be a nightmare or you, I’d rather that you came out on top.”  The torchlight is doing wonderful things to his eyes, just like outside, and he looks like he has tiny flames within the blue.  “The nightmares are evil creatures, and they must be stopped.”

After that it’s easier to sheath his sword and continue up to the top of the platform.

Not counting the door he’d come through, there are three other doors, one on each side of the room.  They’re all too high for the platform to reach, and for a moment Erik is stumped—what now?—until he notices that there is an unlit torch in each of the four corners of the platform.  With a stroke of inspiration, Erik pulls out the lantern and uses it to light each one.

As soon as the fourth torch flickers to life, the floor of the temple begins to shake, making the platform vibrate, and with a loud groan of hidden machinery beneath the ground, three boards of wood rise up, creating a wide set of stairs that lead up to the door on the left.

“Brilliant, Erik,” Charles says, running up the steps.  “Let’s keep going!”

Erik hurries after him.  For some reason it’s making him slightly nervous that Charles hasn’t taken refuge in the back of his mind like he had back in Ordon Village, where he’s far safer from any of the monsters that are lurking within the temple dungeon.  Staying out in the open, in his full projected body, makes Charles vulnerable to attack—because if he’s right, the nightmares can still hurt him.

“Don’t worry,” Charles tells him, face sincere, “as soon as there’s too much danger, I’ll retreat.  You’ve been handling everything admirably, though.”  He smiles.  “But thank you for letting me in.”

Erik nods, and then steps past him quickly so Charles won’t see the heat rising to his cheeks.  He preoccupies himself with heaving the stone door out of the way.

To his surprise, when they step through the doorway they end up back outside.  A strong gust picks up as they step out onto the small cliff overlooking the bottomless chasm, and it’s strange to watch Charles be untouched by the wind while Erik can feel it pulling and tugging at his own clothes and hair.  A long rope bridge stretches out across the chasm, reaching over to another small cliff and door.  The gust dies off, the air falling still.

“May as well check it out,” Charles says when Erik glances over at him.

Erik steps out onto the bridge just as another gust of wind picks up so he stills, waiting for it to pass—the bridge looks just a little bit too flimsy for him to cross during high winds.  Once the gust dies down again, Erik starts to make his way across.

When he’s a quarter of the way across the gently-swaying bridge, a large shadow falling across him is all the warning he gets.

“Duck!” Charles cries, a note of real panic in his voice, and Erik doesn’t think; instead he just throws himself down flat against the mossy boards.

He feels rather than sees something massive pass by overhead, missing him by only a few feet, the buzzing sound of insect wings filling the air—if insects could be three times his size.  He lifts his head just in time to see it—a huge moth, its brightly colored wingspan twice as long as he is tall, with one large, beady yellow eye that is trained on him unblinkingly.  He barely has time to comprehend what he’s staring at before the giant bug smashes down on the middle of the bridge, snapping the already frayed rope.

“Erik!” Charles shouts, but Erik’s already pitching forward as the bridge breaks in half, plunging into the abyss—

He twists in midair and snatches onto a rope, hoping that it can still take his weight—

Erik grunts when he slams into the side of the cliff, holding on tightly to the rope and suddenly very grateful that his new clothes had come with gloves.  Then he looks around wildly because no, _Charles_ —

“I’m here, my friend.”  Charles stands a few yards above him in midair—of course.  His projection would only ever fall if he allowed it to. 

Erik’s relief is staggering.

Even as a projection, Charles looks pale.  “I thought you were going to fall—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Across the chasm, the giant moth has settled on the wall above the door, giant wings spread wide and flat against the stone.  Erik can feel it watching him, and is very aware of how easy a target he makes as he dangles helplessly off the side of the cliff, but the insect makes no move as Erik slowly begins to pull himself back up, Charles voicing encouragement all the way.

The wind picks up again just as he reaches the top, pulling himself up and over the ledge.  He collapses onto the ground on his back for a moment, his limbs shaking slightly from the release of tension, acutely aware of what it feels like to be back on solid ground.

Charles crouches down beside him, looking just as relieved as Erik feels.  “I’m so glad you didn’t fall,” he says again, hesitating for a moment before he gently puts one cool hand on Erik’s forehead, “you had me scared for a moment.”

Erik smirks at him.

“I’m allowed to be worried when you’re plummeting to your death,” Charles insists, but he looks slightly flustered as he draws his hand away, glancing back across the chasm at the moth that still watches them.  “We’re going to have to find a way over there eventually,” he says grimly, “but for now, let’s go back and look around some more on this side.”

Erik can hardly find fault with that so he pushes himself back up to his feet, and together they head back inside, leaving the giant moth behind.

Back on the platform in the center of the room, Erik examines the two doors that remain.  The center door is locked, heavy chains barring the way, but the door on the right is unlocked.  Both doors are out of reach, though, and Erik doesn’t see any more unlit torches to light.

“There has to be _some_ way to reach them,” Charles says, sounding dismayed.

Erik hops down off the platform, bending his knees when he hits the ground to keep from toppling over.  He jogs over to the wall, looking up at the unlocked door.  There’s no way for him to scale the cliff jutting out from the wall that creates the small ledge in front of the door—the stone is smooth and has no grip holds.

“Erik, look!”  Charles has skirted around the side of the ledge, and beckons for Erik to follow.

Tucked in the back corner against the wall, thick vines grow up the stone, easily extending past the ledge.  Erik reaches out and grips one of the vines, giving it an experimental tug—the plant holds steady, firmly clinging to the wall.

“You’ll have to get rid of the Skullwalltulas,” Charles says, gesturing to the two small spiders that sit waiting higher up the vines, much smaller than their Skulltula cousins, “but do you think you can climb this?”

In answer Erik takes out his slingshot, digging around for seeds to use as ammunition.  He takes a step or two back, holding up the slingshot to aim, and kills each of the Skullwalltulas with one hit, taking care of them quickly and efficiently.  He stows the slingshot away again, doing his best not to think about Angel, Sean, Alex, and Hank, and then begins to climb.

“We’ll find them,” Charles says quietly when Erik reaches the top, hoisting himself up onto the ledge, “I promise.”

Erik believes him, but right now he can only focus on getting through this temple in one piece—one thing at a time.  He _will_ find the children.  He climbs to his feet and rolls the door open, stepping into the next room.

It’s strangely empty, and Erik stays still for a few long moments even after the door has rolled shut behind him, listening intently.  A chest sits in the very center of the room, no doubt containing the key that he needs, but other than that there is nothing.  Erik can’t shake the feeling that it’s too easy—it has to be some kind of trick.

No nightmares appear, though, and the room remains silent and still.  Erik takes a cautious step forward and still nothing happens, so he grows a little more confident and starts to walk towards the chest.

He’s only a few paces away when the ground beneath him erupts, sending him flying backwards to hit the ground hard as giant, wriggling vines with sharp thorns burst out of the ground, barring the way.  Erik can only lie where he’s landed, looking up at the ceiling dazedly.

“Erik!” Charles’s face appears overhead, looking down at him in concern.  “Are you alright?”

Erik waits for the world to stop spinning before he nods, pushing himself back up to his feet.  It’d just been unexpected, but now he thinks he has an idea of what’s going on.  The giant vines have already disappeared back into the ground, but when he takes another experimental step forward—smaller this time—they spring up again, blocking his path.

“It’s a maze,” Charles realizes, “only you can’t see the walls until it’s almost too late.  You’re going to have to step carefully.”

Erik thinks that this is annoying, but nevertheless starts off, treading lightly.  When he tries going to the left first, a wall of the vines follows alongside him, blocking his way all the way to the actual wall of the room.  He turns back and heads towards the opposite wall, the vines still following him.  This time when he reaches the wall, he discovers a gap where no vines have popped out of the ground, so he takes a step forward—when nothing happens, he exchanges a triumphant glance with Charles.

They’re forced to wind back and forth across the room, passing by the chest so closely that Erik can practically touch it if it weren’t for the large, wriggling vines that spring up in his way.  At one point Erik has to grab Charles by the wrist and yank him back out of the way when the shorter boy accidentally steps too closely to where Erik has already predicted that vines will emerge.  Charles stumbles out of the way just in time, right as the vines burst out of the ground, and for a moment they remain still, both surprised by how fast Erik had reacted.

“Thank you.” Charles says, and Erik lets go of him quickly.

At long last, after they’ve done an entire, twisting circuit around the room, Erik is allowed to approach the chest.  He kicks it open at once and sure enough, a key rests inside.

“You’ve got the small key!” Charles remarks.  “Now we can—”

The ground rumbles, and for a spilt second all of the vines hidden in the ground burst upwards, writhing wildly, and then with a loud suction noise they all disappear back into the dirt at once.

“I think they’re gone for good,” Charles says cautiously, and Erik proves him right when he takes a step forward and isn’t sent flying backwards.

It’s easy, then, to jog back across the room and slip through the door, bringing them back into the main room once again.  Erik remains up on the ledge, surveying the remaining door.  He has the key that will unlock it, but he has no way to reach it.

His gaze slips along the wall.  A tiny ledge, hard to see in the flickering torchlight, runs from where he’s currently standing to the wider ledge in front of the locked door.  If he keeps his back firmly against the wall, he should be able to cross.

“Careful,” Charles says as Erik inches out onto the ledge.

Erik rolls his eyes.  Easy for Charles to say—he’s currently keeping pace in front of Erik by walking along in midair.  Erik slides his foot sideways, shuffling along the ledge.  It’s not too terrible of a height, though, and if he falls he doesn’t think he’ll be hurt.  If anything, it’ll just be a small dent in his pride.

“Well,” Charles says lightly, with a hint of a teasing grin, “we wouldn’t want _that_.”

Erik gives him a look, and fortunately makes it across without any mishap.  He has to clear away a large spider web from the door—a wave of his lantern sets it on fire—and then he’s able to slide the key into the lock, the large chains once again falling away.

The next room has a wide, grassy floor with lots of wooden scaffolding built up along the walls, so Erik doesn’t hesitate to head for the stairs.  He’s only a few steps away when two Baba Serpents rise up out of the grass, gaping jaws opening wide, so Erik draws his sword, slashing at the first head as it lunges towards him with a snarl.  His blade cuts through the stalk at the base of its head, decapitating it with one easy cut, so Erik turns towards the second.

“Behind you!” Charles cries, and before Erik can even wonder what he means, white-hot pain shoots up his leg as razor-sharp jaws close around his calf.

Erik bats away the second head with his shield, and looks down.  The first head that he’s decapitated hasn’t died, and is instead grinding its way through his leg.  With a strangled yell, Erik kicks at it, wrenching his leg free and hissing in pain when its teeth tear his flesh, sending it rolling backwards a by a few feet.  The head is hardly deterred, slithering across the ground like some kind of nightmarish snake back towards him again, gnashing its bloody teeth, but this time Erik is ready and cuts it apart with his sword before it can reach him.

“Oh, Erik,” Charles says as the Baba Serpent finally goes up in a cloud of black smoke, dropping to a crouch and reaching out tentatively towards Erik’s bloody leg, “are you—?”

The second Baba Serpent lunges towards Charles, teeth snapping, and Erik leaps over him, sword flashing.  He smashes his blade into the monster’s face, knocking it back away from Charles, and with his follow-through strike he easily decapitates it.  This time he doesn’t give the head a chance to recover, spinning his sword once and killing it in a single blow.

Panting, Erik stays frozen in place for a moment as the head shrivels and dies, exploding into a black cloud.  Then he straightens, giving his sword an ornate twirl before slipping it over his shoulder and into its sheath in one fluid motion.

When he turns back to face Charles, Erik finds him still crouched down, staring up at him with his mouth slightly open.  Erik blinks, a little thrown by the intensity of Charles’ gaze, but then Charles looks away quickly with a small cough, clearing his throat.

“Sit down for a moment,” he says, pushing himself back up to his feet, “and let me take a look at your leg.”

Erik tries to protest, but when he looks down his pant leg is stained dark red, so it probably isn’t a good idea to leave it alone.  After a quick glance around to make sure there aren’t any more Baba Serpents or other enemies nearby, he sinks down to the ground, stretching his wounded leg out in front of him.

Charles crouches down beside him again, leaning over his leg.  “I’m sorry that my hands are so cold,” he apologizes when Erik can’t stop himself from grimacing at his deft touch, “it’s hard to constantly project body warmth when it’s…”  He trails off for a moment, sounding a little lost.  “I suppose it’s just unnecessary, isn’t it?”  He ducks his head, continuing to examine Erik’s leg carefully.

Erik sits still and watches him, thinking.  He remembers how Charles had leaned into his hand back in the forest outside of Ordon, when Erik had experimentally touched his face.  If Charles’ actual body has been sleeping all this time, Erik realizes, he must be touch-starved, or close to it.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Charles reports, still preoccupied by Erik’s leg, “though it’s a little on the deep side.”  He fidgets for a moment, looking worried.  “You might need stitches.  At the very least, do you have anything you can wrap this with?  I’d offer to do it myself,” he adds, sounding chagrined, “but I can only, um, touch you.”

Erik flicks him in the shoulder companionably, because he thinks that Charles is perhaps worrying a little bit too much.  But wrapping it does sound like a good idea, if only to stop the blood flow, so Erik rips a strip of cloth off the bottom of his tunic and winds it around his calf a few times before he ties it off.  He looks back up at Charles, raising an eyebrow.

Charles gives him a smile.  “Yes, I feel better now.”  He pauses, visibly hesitating.  “And thank you.  For protecting me.”

Erik gives him another flick, rolling his eyes again—because of course, that’s a _given_ —and then climbs back up to his feet, testing out his leg.  It takes his weight fine, and his wrappings feel good and snug.  He offers a hand to Charles and decidedly does not flush when Charles grins delightedly and accepts, allowing Erik to pull him up as well.

“Shall we continue on, then?” Charles asks, cheerful again and Erik finds that he is relieved—Charles wears cheerful far better than lost.  “Lead the way, my friend.”

Erik climbs up the stairs, the old wood creaking below him but otherwise remaining firm and steady.  At the top, a boardwalk runs alongside the wall that ends abruptly in front of a ledge that holds a huge boulder.  He can just make out the frame of a doorway beyond it; this is the right way to go, but he has no idea how to get past solid rock.

His gaze lands on a tall, strange-looking bug-like creature that stands very still, watching him with beady eyes.  When he takes a step towards it, the thing crouches down as if preparing to strike so Erik draws his sword and readies his shield, waiting for it to make the first move.

It remains crouched and unmoving, even after several seconds, so Erik decides to take the initiative and swipes at it with his sword.  He ends up knocking off the strange stone-like object on its back, which bounces a few feet away and begins to glow red, a loud sizzling sound filling the air.  The stone glows brighter and brighter, and Erik is confused as to what is happening before it suddenly explodes, going off like a bomb, making the scaffolding tremble.

“Oh,” Charles says, his eyes wide in wonder, “fascinating.”

Erik looks back over at the boulder in front of the door and grins.

The bug creature is standing again, and has somehow regrown a new bomb on its back.  This suits Erik’s needs perfectly, so he waits for it to crouch down before knocking its new bomb off.  This time he quickly sheathes his sword and runs over to the bomb, hoisting it up over his head with both arms, and runs towards the boulder.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Charles chants, sounding equal parts nervous and excited as he follows behind him.

Erik reaches the end of the boardwalk and hurls the bomb towards the ledge, skidding to a halt to prevent himself from plunging over the side.  The bomb lands right next to the boulder and explodes half a moment later, blowing the rock to dust.

He allows himself a satisfied smirk as Charles gives off a triumphant whoop, and then backs up a couple steps before taking a flying leap across the short distance, grabbing onto the ledge and pulling himself up.  This door is unlocked, so he rolls the door aside and steps through with Charles on his heels.

This room has a huge pond in the center of it, deep and clear, its surface smooth as glass.  A wide walkway stretches out across the water to the other side of the room, where Erik can see a chest sitting in the center of the small strip of land.

Charles frowns.  “I wonder what’s in that chest.  It can’t just be another key, could it?”

Erik shrugs.  There’s only one way to find out.

He starts off across the walkway that stretches across the pond.  The room seems so silent and still, and Erik’s gaze is drawn back to the water, peering into the depths.  He can see right to the bottom, where a thick layer of algae appears to be growing, but he doesn’t see any fish or other forms of life, which seems almost odd given the amount of monsters that they’ve encountered lurking throughout the temple so far.

He’s too busy looking at the water so he completely misses how the tiles beneath his feet are shifting ominously.  His gaze snaps up when Charles gives a startled cry, and he has a split-second view of a giant worm-like creature that had previously been lurking beneath the tile before he’s knocked backwards and sent flying, landing with a huge splash in the center of the pond.

The water is surprisingly cool, and Erik’s wound on his leg stings for a few moments as he kicks his way back up to the surface, coughing and sputtering.  He treads water, looking around wildly for Charles, and finally catches sight of him on the bank, lying on his back.

He sits up on his elbows as Erik swims over.  “I’m alright,” Charles says, though he sounds slightly dazed, “it only clipped me, I’m not hurt.”

Erik climbs up out of the pond, crawling up the bank to hover over Charles, unsure what to do, because what if Charles has some kind of concussion?  It was stupid of him to not be paying attention, he should know by now to always be on his guard no matter what—

“You’re wet,” Charles observes, blinking up at him, and Erik freezes as the smaller boy reaches up to wipe away a drop of water from his cheek.  “Oh, I can feel it.  Or I can feel _you_ feeling it.  Because your mind is perceiving it—that you’re wet.  Does that make sense?”

Erik shakes his head, because Charles is babbling and it’s starting to make him nervous.  He reaches up and clasps Charles’ hand with his own, giving it a small squeeze, hoping to ground him in some way, because he needs Charles to be aware and fully functioning and _okay_.

It seems to work, because Charles’ eyes flicker and he suddenly looks a lot more lucid.  “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, flushing, “I’m really alright, no need to worry—”

He’s babbling again, but Erik gives a small sigh in relief, because this sort of babbling is normal.  Charles will be fine. 

And he’ll make sure of it, too, this time.  He looks back over at the walkway and the tiles.  They still need to get across to that chest, but this time he’s actually going to pay attention where he walks.

Then he realizes that he’s still holding onto Charles and the smaller boy is looking down at their clasped hands so Erik pulls his hand back quickly, clearing his throat as Charles looks away, cheeks still flushed.

They collect themselves and Erik leads the way again back over to the edge of the walkway, squinting down at the tiles.  If he looks closely, he can see some of them shifting or trembling, which is bound to mean that there are enemies lurking beneath.  He picks his way across the bridge, making sure that Charles sticks close, and this time they make it to the other side without any mishap.

There are more tiles surrounding the chest, but Erik already knows what to look for so he steps over carefully, and then kicks the chest open and reaches down inside.

“You’ve got the Deku Leaf!” Charles remarks, and Erik thinks he sounds unreasonably excited about what is essentially a tree clipping.  “That’ll be perfect for crossing the chasm!”

Erik feels a little skeptical as he looks down at the broad leaf in his hands.  Even though it’s surprisingly still green, not brown and withered as he would normally assume it would be, seeing as it’s been in a box for who knows how long, it doesn’t look anywhere close to being remotely strong enough to hold his weight.

“It has old magic,” Charles explains, still looking at the leaf reverently, “and you know, the legends say that a Deku Tree was the founder of this forest.  It’s said that Deku Trees were actually able to _talk,_ can you believe it?  They all died out, though, it must have been thousands of years ago or something.  This temple actually was supposedly built as a homage to the spirit of the Deku Tree that once grew here.”

Erik’s not sure how much he believes in old legends, but Charles seems to think that they hold some merit, and he can’t exactly deny that he does feel some sort of _something_ emanating from the leaf in his hands.  He’ll just have to trust in Charles, just as he has for everything else.

He tucks the leaf away carefully and then picks his way back across the tiles, and together he and Charles leave the pond behind, stepping back into the previous room.  He hops down off the wooden scaffolding, ignoring Charles’ protest about hurting his leg—it feels fine now, as if the pond water has cleaned it out.  He jogs through the grass and rolls the door aside, and then they’re back in the room with the platform.

Erik hops down from the ledge and runs back around to the front of the platform where the stairs are, climbing back up so he can once again take the door on the left.  As he steps back outside, a gust of wind picks up just as before, the air cool and refreshing after having spent a longer amount of time in the musty inside of the temple.

He looks around cautiously, but the giant moth is nowhere in sight.

“Wait for the next gust of wind,” Charles suggests as Erik moves out to stand on the edge of the cliff where half of the broken bridge still dangles, “and then use the Deku Leaf to glide across.”

Erik pulls the leaf back out, holding on to both corners.  When the wind picks up again, Erik doesn’t give himself time to hesitate and allows the leaf to unfurl as he takes a flying leap off the cliff.

There’s a single heart-stopping moment where he starts to drop, but then the gust catches the underside of the leaf and he’s lifted upwards, propelled forward across the gaping chasm.  Charles is grinning, keeping pace beside him, gliding just as effortlessly as Erik is.  The gust of wind dies off just as Erik reaches the other side, his boots touching down gently onto solid ground.

“You made it!” Charles settles back down on the ground again too.  He looks around, peering through the dim light.  “I still don’t see that moth anywhere, but let’s not wait around, shall we?”

Erik shakes his head, turning away from the abyss.  He follows a short, narrow path, rounding a corner and coming face-to-face with a tall door.  There’s another path that leads off to the right, but when Erik takes a look, it leads out to another cliff.  There are two bridges sitting on platforms in the middle of the deep canyon, but they’re oddly facing the wrong direction—instead of connecting to each other and either side of the trench, they both sit parallel to the edges, unreachable.

“Too bad the wind doesn’t reach here,” Charles says, looking at the propellers sitting in the center of each bridge, “I bet they would rotate with a good breeze.”

Erik shrugs, because there’s nothing they can do about it right now.  The door at least is unlocked, so maybe they’ll find an alternative route across the canyon if they go that way instead.  He rolls it aside and steps into the gloom of the next part of the temple.

As soon as he clears the doorway, thick bars drop down with a large thud, falling straight through Charles, who had been following directly behind Erik.  He freezes for a moment, blinking in surprise, and then steps forward towards Erik with a nervous laugh.

“Good thing I’m not solid,” he says, smiling weakly, “otherwise I would’ve been impaled.”

Erik refuses to think about that and busies himself with checking the bars instead, trying in vain to lift them back up, but they refuse to budge.  A quick glance around the bare, torch-lit room confirms the fact that there are no other doors—they’re trapped.

Or rather, _he’s_ trapped, because Charles can walk right through the bars if he needs to.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Charles says firmly, “let’s take a look around.  There must be a mechanism somewhere in this room that will lift the bars back up.  We’ve just got to find it.”

The room is a little too empty for Erik to feel at ease, but nevertheless he takes a few steps forward, peering around.  The grass underfoot is short, so at least there aren’t any hidden Baba Serpents potentially lurking anywhere.  It’s a large room, too, circular like an arena of some kind, and as his footfalls echo softly off the walls the hair on the back of his neck starts to rise because something is not right.

He hears the soft swish of air against thin wings, and Erik throws himself down, yanking Charles along with him and together they plaster themselves against the ground as the same giant moth from before swoops at them.  It cuts a tight circle in midair, wheeling around to face them, wings beating powerfully as it hovers.

Erik scrambles back up to his feet, pulling Charles up as well before pushing him back and away, out of the immediate line of danger.  He reaches back over his shoulder and draws his sword, falling into a ready position, knees bent, as he lifts his shield.

The moth’s wings are wide but strangely beautiful now that he’s able to get a closer look, distracted for a moment by the bizarre patterns in reds and purples that paint swirls across the peculiar curves of its wings.  Its single eye is once again trained on him unblinkingly, and its large, feathery antennae are twitching wildly.  It has thick, sharp pincers that open and shut reflexively with a loud clacking sound.

It dives at him again, forcing Erik to duck.  This time he spins, slicing upwards with his sword, and is rewarded by a loud, angry hiss as a portion of the moth’s left wing falls away, rapidly losing color.  His enemy pulls up, flying a little lopsided now, spindly legs kicking furiously and pincers snapping.

Erik straightens, taking a few steps after it, twirling his sword as he keeps his gaze locked on the moth.  It flies at him again, dropping down much more clumsily than before, so Erik holds up his shield and braces for impact, because if he can stun the moth now and get it on the ground—

The impact is much harder than he expects, and he’s knocked off his feet when the moth crashes into him.  Erik’s head hits the ground hard, and for a moment everything is a confusing blur of colors and wing beats and it feels like the monster is all over him—

“Erik!”  Charles leaps in front of him, wielding his dagger, and slashes at the moth, driving it away.  He manages to slice through its other wing, cutting through the flimsy filament.  “Erik, get up!”

His head clearing, Erik rolls back up to his feet in time to see the moth crash to the ground, ruined wings fluttering once before they disappear with a loud poof in a cloud of black smoke.  Erik has only a moment to blink in surprise, staring at the moth, which now resembles a large and very angry spider, before it launches itself directly at Charles.

Erik bounds forward with a loud cry, his sword flashing, but the moth has already barreled into Charles, knocking him back just as it had done to Erik.  Charles stabs blindly at the monster with one arm, his other thrown up over his face to protect himself from its biting pincers.  He hits the moth’s eye and the monster lets out a piercing wail, its pincers snapping shut on his arm and Charles gives a cry of pain—

And then Erik is there, driving his sword through the moth’s body to the hilt with all of his strength.  The monster explodes into a black cloud of smoke instantly, disappearing, but Erik only has eyes for Charles, who is clutching his arm with his eyes squeezed shut, his face whiter than a sheet—

Erik reaches out to touch him, and as soon as his fingers brush against Charles’ cold skin his vision shatters, and he spirals down into darkness.


	4. There's nothing we can't beat together

Light spider-webs across the darkness until it splinters like glass, razor-sharp pieces raining down around him.  One cuts his cheek.  His blood is warm.

Warm like the sun on his shoulders, beating down relentlessly.  It is too bright to see at first, but once he can, all he can see is water.  An ocean, stretching out into all of the horizons, blue water bleeding into blue sky until he can no longer tell up from down or sky from sea or air from water because he is underwater, bubbles fanning out around him even as the sun soars past overhead, night falling, the stars coming out to glimmer on the water’s surface, an entire universe looking into a mirror.

The water is deep, and he is sinking.

He stands on a boat, feet planted firmly on the wooden deck.  There is a sail, three golden triangles sewn into the rough canvas with uneven stitching, and this feels urgently, vitally important, his skin crawling with a reason why that he cannot name, but for one crystalline moment everything is quiet and still as he looks at the sail drifting in suspension in the water—funny that it’s rigged, so terribly, horribly, horrifically funny, and then there is a storm.

No.  There is a tempest, screaming down—or up, or sideways, or from behind—in the sky, a flash of lightning searing his eyes and a blast of thunder shaking his bones, every fiber of his body reverberating with sound, alive in ways he could not know were possible before.

Churning, roiling water froths hungrily at the sides of his boat, leaking in the corners to lap at his boots but he’s underwater but he’s _not_ , because the waves are pitching him forward so hard that he has to grasp at the mast to keep from being thrown entirely as the boat spins, drawn into a whirlpool that funnels down into the depths, faster and faster and faster and there is a roaring in his ears and rain in his eyes, the ocean itself rejecting him as it tears his boat to shreds, cold and merciless and there is water clogging his lungs like lead and he is drowning, whiteness eating at him as he dissolves bit by bit by bit by—

Silence.  It is deafening.

There are birds circling overhead.  He squints at them, because they are white and their cries sound like gulls but as he watches their feathers start to bleed black, starting in the wingtips and slowly leeching out, their beaks thickening and sharpening, opening wide to croak out harsh, garish cries and they aren’t gulls, they’re ravens, black—

“Raven!”

She giggles as she runs, her long blond hair flowing behind her as she darts behind a rosebush, one golden strand catching on the thorns and dangling, bright against the dark green leaves.

“Raven, wait!”

He knows that voice.

The scent of grass fills his nose, and he sneezes.  The clouds are white cotton overhead, the cicadas singing in rolling crescendos that taper off gradually before rising again.  Golden flags flap in the breeze.  Branches pull at his hair and clothes as he chases after her, a thorn dragging across his cheek, and it stings, because he was cut there before, and his blood is bright and red on his fingertips.  He can hear her laughing up ahead, the sound drifting back on a gentle breeze.

He stumbles out of the bushes very abruptly, tripping before he rights himself.  She’s standing a few yards away in the center of a wide cobblestone path.  Golden flags flap in the breeze.  So does her hair, billowing gently around her shoulders as she watches him with piercing eyes, standing in the shadow of the vast castle that rises up out of the gardens behind her, turrets tall and proud and stark against the blue sky, and for a moment, everything is frozen in place.

Then three things happen at once.

She lifts one arm, holding out her hand towards him, palm up, her lips curling upwards in a strange half-smile.  He blinks, taking a slow step towards her.

A wall of water looms behind the castle, growing taller and taller as it approaches, and it has to be impossible and the ground is starting to tremble as the oncoming tidal wave bears down on the castle, and his mouth opens because he wants to shout at the girl, scream at her to run, but no sound comes out and the wave is nearly at the castle now.

And then halfway between them Charles stumbles out of the bushes, much like he had, gasping and panting for breath, and he takes one look up at the wave as it engulfs the castle, and the girl holding her hand out still, even as the wall of water rushes towards them, hardly slowed, before he turns.

“Erik!” Charles’ eyes are wide, all color drained from his face.  “Take my hand!”

And Erik is running, sprinting across the distance towards Charles because the tidal wave is nearly on top of them and all he knows is that as long as he can reach Charles, grasp onto his hand—

Their fingertips brush and the water hits like a brick wall, and the last thing Erik sees isn’t Charles at all; lost instead in Raven’s sad, accusing eyes.

 

X

 

He wakes with a jolt, sudden and abrupt, feeling as if he’s been dropped.

It takes him a moment to figure out where he is, confused and disorientated at first by why the sky looks so strange, and then he realizes that it’s not the sky at all and is a ceiling—he’s still deep within the forest temple.

Erik tries to sit up, but there’s a weight on top of him, not exactly pressing him down but giving enough pressure to give him pause, so he lifts his head instead.

Charles is stretched out perpendicular to him, half-draped across his chest, but when he feels Erik moving he sits up quickly, clumsy in his rush.  “Erik,” he says, voice tinted with so much relief that Erik swallows, “you’re awake.  I was—” He falters, voice wavering.  “I’m really, really glad.”

Erik lies still, letting his head drop back down again with a relieved sigh.  The large room is quiet, the moth long since disappeared.  Charles appears unharmed, even though Erik can distinctly remember giant pincers closing on the smaller boy’s arm.

“It tore into my consciousness,” Charles admits, and he doesn’t seem to realize that he still has one hand flat against Erik’s chest, maintaining contact, “and my mind lashed out to protect itself, and it ended up knocking you unconscious.”  He peers down at Erik, still worried.  “I am so, terribly sorry, my friend.”

Erik doesn’t like seeing Charles so distressed so he lifts a hand, covering Charles’ hand on his chest with his own and giving him a small squeeze and a faint smile.  As far as he can tell, neither of them are hurt, so there’s really no reason for Charles to feel so guilty.

“Yes, I’m fine now,” Charles says, smiling back, hesitant at first and then he just looks fond, “everything is alright.”  He turns his hand over so he can squeeze back.  They smile at each other for a few moments, without even realizing it, until Charles abruptly colors and looks away, clearing his throat as he lets go and scrambles up to his feet.  “Um, that chest appeared after the moth died.”

Erik climbs to his feet as well, his hands automatically reaching back to check for his sword and shield.  Both are securely in place, so he follows Charles’ gaze to the wooden chest that now sits in the center of the room a few yards away, trotting over to it and kicking it open before reaching down inside.  His fingers close around thin wood.

“You’ve got the Gale Boomerang!” Charles remarks when Erik gives it an experimental throw.  It arcs around the room, a wild whirlwind kicking up in its path, before returning neatly to Erik’s palm.  “You can harness the power of the winds with it, and you can even target up to five different things at once.  It’s _magic_ , Erik.”

Erik crosses back over to the door of the room, keeping the boomerang out for the moment.  The heavy bars are still in place, locking them inside.  Erik doesn’t mean to stay in this place for forever, though, so there has to be some sort of way to get back out.

His eyes catch on a small alcove carved into the wall above the door.  He can just barely make out the blades of a fan within the shadow, so he draws back his arm and throws the boomerang at it, smacking it dead-on.  The whirlwind from his newest weapon kicks up, making the fan blades spin, and with a low rumble, the bars on the door below raise up by a few inches.

“Do that again,” Charles says, looking up at the fan intently.

Erik throws the boomerang again, the blades on the fan spinning faster and faster, and the bars on the door raise up a little more.  Narrowing his eyes, Erik whips the boomerang forward, throwing it with all of his might, and with a final groan of machinery the bars lift all of the way up, and the way out is clear.  He gives Charles a small grin, and then heads outside, putting the large arena-like room behind them.

He ducks down the path to his left, following it around to the two bridges sitting in the middle of the canyon.  They’re still unreachable, but this time he has a way to fix that.

“Well done, Erik,” Charles says as the first bridge rotates, swinging around to connect to their side of the trench, “now we can finally cross!”

Erik steps out onto the worn wood as he catches the boomerang, deftly snatching it out of midair as it whizzes by.  He likes the feel of it in his hands, and the wild torrent of wind that swirls up in its wake every time he throws it.  He flings it at the next bridge as well, aiming for the fan in its center, and the second bridge rotates around to connect to the first, completing the way across.

A Bokoblin that looks just the same as the ones that had invaded Ordon sits on the piece of land that the bridges lead to, so Erik jogs forward, catching the boomerang and slipping it into his pouch all in one motion before reaching back to draw his sword.  The blade is out and ready in his hand by the time he reaches the end of the bridge.  He leaps forward at the monster as soon as his boots touch solid ground, slicing into the nightmare before it even has time to stand.   The Bokoblin shrieks, swiping at him with its club, but Erik raises his shield and braces his arm as wood collides with wood with a loud _thwack_ , the rebound sending the club flying out of the Bokoblin’s grip altogether.  Erik doesn’t hesitate and thrusts his sword up into the monster’s belly, finishing it off.

There are two more bridges to straighten out, so Erik slips his sword back over his shoulder and takes out his boomerang again, aiming for the fans.  Two gusts of wind later, the bridges are facing the right way and Erik can run across, straight towards the next door that waits.

The next room holds another pond, cold and clear water shimmering in the torchlight.  As far as Erik can tell, this pond is empty too, so he wastes little time in hopping across the fragmented docks to the other side of the room.  The last jump is almost too far out of reach, and Erik only barely manages to grasp on to the edge with his fingertips, dangling precariously with the toes of his boots skimming the water’s surface.  He hauls himself up with a grunt, climbing onto solid ground.

It occurs to him as he’s pushing himself to his feet that it’s oddly quiet in this room; so far every room he’s entered in this temple has resulted him being attacked in some way, shape, or form.  There’s a door directly ahead of him, though, and if there are no enemies in this room, at least, he’s not going to go out of his way looking for them.  He makes a beeline for the door.

“Erik, look at this.”  Charles has wandered to the other side of the island.  There’s a rope bridge extending out over the pond in the opposite direction, leading over to another scrap of land.  “I think there’s a chest over there.”

Erik slows, switching directions and going over to join Charles, squinting through the dim light.  Sure enough, there’s a tall gate of bars behind which a large chest sits.  Even from here Erik can tell that the chest is different—it has a large, gleaming jewel inlaid in its lid, giving off the very strange sensation that the chest is watching them.

“It looks important, though,” Charles says quietly, “we should try to reach it.”

Erik shrugs but crosses the bridge, keeping a sharp eye out for any enemies lurking within the shadows.  There’s still nothing, so Erik approaches the bars, wrapping his hands around the cool metal.  They refuse to budge under any of his attempts to lift them up or move them aside, so he takes a step back to get a better look at this new puzzle.

“The pillars have fans on top of them,” Charles says suddenly, and Erik follows his gaze up to the top of each of the four pillars that stand in the corners of the island in a square.  “Maybe if you used the boomerang—?”

Erik takes the boomerang out and targets each of the pillars, before throwing it out.  It whips past them all, sending the fan blades spinning wildly, but when Erik catches it again, nothing has happened—the bars blocking the way to the chest remain firmly in place.

“Well,” Charles says, disappointed, “it was worth a shot.  There has to be _some_ way, though…”  He trails off uncertainly.  “We can’t afford to linger here too long, of course.”

Erik sets his jaw stubbornly.  There has to be some way to trip the mechanism keeping the bars in place, and he’s not going to leave this island until he figures it out—especially since Charles seems to think it’s important.  He can easily add _disappointed_ to the list of things that he doesn’t like seeing cross Charles’ face, so now Erik is even more determined to get to that chest.

He scuffs the ground with his boot, and then does a double-take.  There’s a pattern in the floor, zigzagging across the ground between the pillars, and it suddenly gives him an idea—he’s supposed to spin the fans, but in the right order.

Erik takes a couple steps back, hefting the boomerang once more.  Following the pattern on the ground, he carefully targets each of the pillars before throwing it, watching as the whirlwind sends the blades spinning again.  This time as he catches the boomerang, there comes a now-familiar groan of machinery, and the bars in front of the chest roll aside—the way is clear.

Charles’ smile could keep all the torches in the temple burning bright for a year.  “Outstanding, my friend,” he says with a laugh, “that was inspired.”

Erik grins, pleased, and then slips the boomerang back into his pouch as he walks over to give the chest a solid kick to pop the lid open, and reaches down inside.

“You’ve got the Boss Key,” Charles remarks reverently as Erik lifts the giant brass key up, “that will unlock the door to the room where the temple boss lurks.”

Erik studies the key.  It’s thick and solid in his hand, and has a gem similar to the one on the chest set into its handle.  There’s an aura of malevolence coming from it, making him shift on his feet uneasily for a moment, because whatever hides behind the door that this key unlocks will likely not be easy to beat.  He’s going to have to fight harder—and better—than he did against the moth.

“Courage,” Charles says softly, watching Erik’s face.  “There’s nothing we can’t beat together.”

Erik nods as he tucks the key away, freshly determined.  Charles is right.  They’ve come this far.  Whatever is lurking in the deepest room of the temple is what holds the sleeping spell over Ordon Village—if he can defeat it, the villagers will be safe.  He can’t back down now.

He’s not afraid.

Charles smiles.

Erik runs back across pond on the gently-swaying bridge to the door he’d originally been heading for, rolling it aside and stepping into the next room.  It’s perfectly round, with another pond, except the water is nearly completely covered by a giant flower petal floating on the surface.  Erik cranes his neck back to look up—high above, he can just barely make out a ledge.

“But how are you supposed to get there?” Charles asks in dismay.

Erik shakes his head, because he has no idea.  There are no vines growing on the walls for him to grab onto, and the torch brackets lining the way up through the darkness are spaced too far apart to use either.  He steps out gingerly onto the large flower petal, testing his footing cautiously and is surprised when it holds his weight without sinking.  He walks further out onto the springy petal, coming to a stop in the center.

There’s a small alcove in the wall, and it holds a fan.  Erik frowns.  There are no bridges or bars here that he can see so he’s not sure what the fan’s purpose is, but it isn’t like he has anything to lose.  He takes out his boomerang and throws it.

As soon as the fan blades start to spin, a giant whirlwind kicks up in the center of the flower.  Erik gives a cry of surprise as he’s lifted clean off his feet and hurled backwards, smacking into the wall before dropping down into the water with a loud splash, partially stunned.

“Are you alright?” Charles asks him quickly once Erik’s kicked to the surface, coughing and sputtering.  He stands on the edge of the petal, unaffected by the whirlwind, and he’s peering down at Erik worriedly.

Erik edges between the wall and the petal, treading water, and then climbs back out of the pond onto the grassy ledge in front of the door, hauling himself up with both arms.  The whirlwind on the flower dies out, the air falling still again as the blades of the fan slow to a stop, but Erik stays where he is for a moment, catching his breath.

Charles hops back down off the flower onto the grass beside Erik, couching down next to him.  “I certainly wasn’t expecting that either,” he admits, and Erik freezes for a moment when he absently reaches forward to brush some of the hair on Erik’s forehead back gently, the movement so natural that Charles probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, “though I suppose that at this point, we shouldn’t be surprised.”

Erik snorts, though he can’t help but agree.  Going through this temple has been the strangest thing he’s ever done in his entire life—enough to feel like some sort of dream—but he thinks that overall, he’s taking all of this rather well.  It doesn’t hurt that he feels very reassured to have Charles at his side and a good sword in his hand.

Still, they haven’t come all this way just to be defeated by a dead end with a whirlwind in it.  Erik pushes himself back up to his feet, eyeing the flower speculatively.  He has an idea.

Charles raises his eyebrows, straightening from his crouch.  “Just—”  He breaks off, and he gives a small chuckle.  “Hold on tight.”

Erik gives him a companionable nudge, because honestly, what _other_ choice will he have in the matter?  He takes out his boomerang again, and keeping his feet firmly planted in the grass, he throws it at the fan one more time.

The whirlwind kicks up again, loud in the circular room, and once Erik catches his boomerang he quickly slips it back into his pouch and pulls out the Deku Leaf.  He grips the ends tightly and then jumps into the whirlwind with a wild cry.

The leaf catches the wild wind instantly and Erik shoots upwards, rocketing straight up towards the ledge high above.  Once he’s level with the cliff, he lets go of one end of the Deku Leaf and drops, grabbing onto the edge with both hands and pulling himself safely up.

“You made it!” Charles cheers.  He floats up on his own accord, stepping onto the edge neatly.  Far below, the whirlwind has already died down again.  His smile fades as he looks past Erik, growing serious.  “Well, here we are.”

Erik turns his head.  Two torches flicker on either side of a giant door, with a lock that looks like a giant eye staring out at them.  They’ve reached the end of the temple.

“Wait a moment,” Charles says quickly when Erik starts to rise, “let me check on your leg, please?”

Erik wants to protest, but then he sees how nervous Charles looks so he settles back into place on the ground, stretching his legs out in front of himself and leaning back on his hands as Charles sinks down beside him, shifting close.  The leg that had been bitten  by the Baba Serpent has felt fine ever since Erik first fell into the pond water, but it certainly won’t hurt to let Charles take a look at it.

“You’re going to have to untie the bandage for me,” Charles says, chagrinned, “so I can see your leg.”

Erik leans forward to untie the makeshift wrapping, unwinding it quickly.  The cloth is a little bloodstained, but not nearly as bad as Charles seems to fear.  When at last the bandage is all the way off and Erik’s calf is fully exposed, he leans back again so Charles can bend down to look closely.

“It’s healing really fast,” Charles says, sounding surprised, his fingers cold and deft as he lightly touches Erik’s skin.  The bleeding has stopped entirely, but Erik is certain that he’ll have a scar.  “I can’t tell if it’s because of the water, or if you just heal naturally fast.”

Erik shrugs.  He doesn’t know either.  His previous work as a ranch hand in a quiet village never really earned him any large injuries like this.

“Or it could be because it was a nightmare monster,” Charles hypothesizes, “because I suppose it’d affect you differently, since you’re actually a solid being.”  To his credit, he says it without an ounce of bitterness in his voice.

Still, though, Erik can tell Charles isn’t entirely unaffected, so he reaches forward carefully and puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder, covering as much cool surface as he can.  Charles leans into the touch slightly, as if he can’t help it, and gives Erik a small smile.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, even though to Erik it sounds more like he’s trying to reassure himself, “I’ll be _wonderful_ , if we can just save Hyrule from falling into darkness.”

Erik gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze in assertion.

Charles looks at him for a moment, eyes bright, and then he swallows.  “Um.  You should, um, rewrap your leg still, just in case.”

Erik nods, even though it’s another full moment before he’s able to tear his eyes away from Charles’ and focus on rewinding the cloth around his calf again, tying it off neatly.  He climbs back up to his feet, rolling his shoulders and tightening the leather gauntlets on his forearms, before making his way over to the tall door.

There are two ceramic pots, one on either side of the doorway, so Erik draws his sword, slashing at the one on the left.  It shatters with a loud crash, and something shiny and red skitters out across the floor, coming to a stop next to his boot.

“You found a red rupee!” Charles remarks as Erik bends down to pick it up.  “That’s worth 20 green rupees.  Better hold onto that.”

Erik dusts the rupee off with his sleeve, and then slips it into a pocket.  He’s never seen anything larger than a blue rupee, worth only five green.  Charles hadn’t seemed surprised by it, though, so Erik’s determined to play it off.

He smashes the second pot, and at first he thinks that it was empty but then he sees something small and shimmering out of the corner of his eye, and Charles gasps in excitement.

“Quick, use your glass bottle!” Charles urges.  “Catch it, catch it!”

Erik fumbles in his pouch, searching for the bottle that had previously held extra lantern oil.  He finds it at last and uncorks it, swiping clumsily at the small, glittering orb that floats a couple feet off the ground.  It hits the inside of the bottle with a soft clink and Erik quickly puts the cork back in, lifting the glass up to where he can see it better.

“You caught a Fairy!” Charles says, elated, and crowds closer to peer into the bottle.  “It’s said that they’ll help you in a time of dire need.  This is _amazing_ , Erik, and very lucky!”

Erik’s not entirely convinced that what looks basically like a firefly will be of any use if he’s in dire need, but nevertheless he tucks the bottle carefully away, pushing it down into the back corner of his pouch where it’s less likely to be crushed.  His fingers close on the thick handle of the Boss Key, and he pulls it out with a glance at Charles.

“Here goes nothing.” Charles says, attempting to sound light, but as Erik lifts the key to the lock he sees Charles bite his lip.

The lock turns with a loud clang that echoes through the tunnel behind them, and the chains fall away from the door with a heavy rattle.  There’s a low rumble and the door opens wide, admitting them to a dark passageway beyond.

“Together.” Charles decides, so they step forward as one, shoulders brushing lightly as they walk side-by-side into the darkness.

The passage widens out, and at first Erik wouldn’t be able to see his own hand in front of his face if it weren’t for the soft glow that Charles projects, giving them enough light to see where they’re stepping.  Then suddenly torches are flickering to life one by one, all along the edges of a vast, circular room, much like the arena where he’d fought the giant moth.

Erik comes to a stop, holding out his arm to catch Charles in the stomach, stopping him from taking another step forward.  There’s something—or someone—standing in the center of the room, waiting for them.

It’s a man, his posture stiff, arms held out straight on either side.  His lavender tunic sticks out even in the dim light, bright against the duller colors of the room, but he doesn’t carry any weapons that Erik can see.  Erik doesn’t move any closer, though, because even though the man’s eyes are closed, something feels very, very wrong.

“Janos,” Charles says, eyes wide, “the Howling Riptide.”

The man’s eyes snap open, and they are nothing but black holes.

Erik shoves Charles gracelessly to the side and dives in the opposite direction when the man flings _something_ at them without warning, hitting the ground hard but rolling back up to his feet.  Erik hears whatever it was hit the wall behind him with a loud impact, but draws his sword and readies his shield, twirling his blade a few times as Riptide turns his head slowly to face him.  Erik is half-aware of Charles scrambling back up to his feet and feels a small burst of relief when the shorter boy starts to back away towards the edge of the room, but keeps his gaze firmly on their enemy.

“Erik,” Charles calls urgently, “he’s an old monster, a master of—”

Riptide lifts his arms and begins to spin on the spot, faster and faster.  Erik can only stare, stunned, as a large torrent of howling wind builds up around the monster in a tall, wide column; an entire tornado in the middle of the room.  Erik feels all of the air in the room responding, the pressure fluctuating wildly and making his ears pop, and he realizes that it’d been a jet of air that Riptide had thrown at them initially, and that’s what Charles had been trying to say—he’s a master of the winds.

 _Yes_ , Charles says, slipping into Erik’s mind with easy familiarity, because the roaring noise of the tornado is too loud to shout over, _he’s straight out of an old legend, and has complete mastery over air._  Even silently, he sounds grim.  _If he’s appeared as a nightmare, the evil in Hyrule is more powerful than we first thought._

Erik eyes the tornado, gripping his sword and shield tightly.  So far it has yet to move, spinning on the spot in the center of the room, but there’s no telling how long that will last.

 _You’re going to have to find a way to reach Riptide_ , Charles says, _he’s the one holding the spell of darkness over this place, and keeping the villagers in Ordon asleep.  Defeat him, and Hyrule will be that much safer._

Erik grits his teeth and then starts off at a dead sprint towards the tornado, because there’s only one way to defeat monsters.

He doesn’t even get within reach of the wall of wind before the outer gusts become too strong, blowing him off his feet entirely and sending him careening backwards.  He crashes to the ground, landing on his side, and he only avoids slamming his head down is because he throws his shield up at the last second and lands awkwardly on top of it.  A little bruised, he climbs back up to his feet—he’s going to have to try something else.

He slips his sword back into its sheath and takes out his boomerang.  He’s not sure if it’ll even be able to get any closer than he did, but it’s worth a shot.  He throws it at the tornado, and watches as it gets sucked up into the torrent, spinning around and around a few times before it’s spit back out, shooting back into his palm.

Erik squeezes it tightly, frustrated.  He can’t reach the tornado, and nothing else that he’s carrying will be of any help—he can hardly throw a lantern at Riptide and expect it to do damage, and he feels that taking out the Deku Leaf in this kind of wind will result in a broken neck.  He can’t turn back now, though.  He’s come this far and the villagers—and Charles—are depending on him.

He looks past Riptide to the other end of the room, searching for something, anything, and that’s when his gaze falls on one of the strange bug-like creatures standing stock-still, an unlit bomb on its back.

Perfect.

Erik skirts around the edge of the room, giving the tornado a wide berth, and heads straight for the smaller monster.  One slash of his sword later, and he’s got a lit bomb fizzling on the grass, and the perfect target to throw it at.

He hoists the bomb up and runs as close to Riptide as he dares, and then chucks the bomb straight at the tornado.  It hits the wall of wind and explodes, the ground shaking, and Erik tenses, waiting for—

Nothing happens.

Erik’s shoulders fall— _now_ what?  How is he supposed to defeat something that not even bombs can scratch?

 _If you could get the bomb_ inside _the vortex, somehow_ , Charles says, just as despairing, _but I don’t see…_

Erik looks up again, back at the bug, which has already regrown a new bomb on its back.  Of _course_.

He sheathes his sword and pulls out the boomerang once more.  This time he carefully aims at the bug first, making the tornado his second target.  If this works like he hopes it will…

He lets the boomerang fly, throwing it as hard as he can.  It hits the bug first, scooping up the bomb from its back, and then arcs towards Riptide, carrying the sizzling explosive with it.  The boomerang spins wildly around the tornado, up and up and up, and then when it reaches the top it drops the bomb down inside.  Erik catches the boomerang right as the bomb goes off, exploding within the tornado.

Erik grins fiercely as Charles cheers inside his head, watching as the wind sputters out, the tornado dissipating in a matter of seconds.  Riptide himself is visible again, swaying dizzily, so Erik rushes forward, drawing out his sword with a scrape of metal on leather, and sets off his true attack.

He slices at Riptide with a loud cry, getting in several good blows before Riptide recovers enough to attack back, using the air as an invisible blade.  He twists beneath Erik’s steel, knocking the breath out of Erik’s lungs with a jet of air to his chest but Erik recovers, thrusting his shield forward to hit him back, and slipping his sword down beneath the wood to slash the monster’s belly.

Riptide throws back his head with a wild howl, more animal than human, and summons a huge gust of wind to send Erik flying backwards again.  Erik lands on his back, pushing himself up into a sitting position, but Riptide is already spinning again, forming his roaring tornado around himself as a defense once more.

Erik wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.  He’ll just have to tear it down again.

This time Riptide doesn’t stay in one place, and the tornado begins to slowly move forward, gradually bearing down on Erik.  Erik jumps back up to his feet and runs around the edge of the room, doubling back on his enemy and putting himself into position next to the bug.  It takes the tornado a second, but it slowly comes to a halt, and then starts moving towards him again, slowly but surely.

Using his boomerang, Erik sends another bomb soaring up into the tornado.  This time when it explodes, he already has his sword out and ready and is on top of Riptide at once, taking advantage of his momentary disorientation to hack away at him, dealing out as much damage as he possibly can.  Riptide snarls, grabbing on to Erik’s wrist of his sword hand, but Erik hoists his shield and smashes it into the monster’s face, wrenching his arm free and in the same motion he slides his foot forward, following through with a brutal thrust of his sword into Riptide’s center.

Riptide curls over, releasing a blast of air in all directions so strong that Erik is thrown all the way back against the wall, hitting the stone hard and sliding down to the ground.  Dazed, Erik blinks several times, dimly aware of Charles doing something to his head—straightening out his thoughts and making things clear again as the haze lifts and Erik can think straight once more.

 _You’ve got to move_ , Charles urges, _he’s coming on faster now_.

Erik somehow maintained his grip on his sword and shield when he’d been thrown, and they scrape briefly against the ground as he forces himself back up.  Sure enough, the tornado is coming for him, moving much faster than the previous time—Riptide is furious.

He’s also back between Erik and his bomb source, which is going to prove difficult if Erik can’t make it past him.  Erik sprints along the wall, but Riptide changes direction and roars after him, the gusts of wind tearing at Erik’s clothes, and for a moment his shield is nearly ripped clear out of his hands.  Erik is forced to stop and run back to where he started, putting a little bit more distance back between them.

 _You can’t let him corner you_ , Charles says, trying and failing to keep fear from permeating his voice, _if he corners you, it’s over._

Erik doesn’t exactly plan on letting that happen, but his options are quickly becoming limited as he’s forced to backtrack some more.  Riptide is herding him further and further away from the bomb bug, and there’s only so far Erik is able to throw his boomerang.  He thinks of the goats back in Ordon that he watched over daily, and how he’d have to herd them back into the barn each evening—sometimes he’d manage to get them all, but every now and then one goat would break from the formation and charge past him and Magneta, forcing Erik to swing wide to compensate…

There’s only one way he’s going to get past Riptide at this point.

 _Erik!_ Charles cries, alarmed, but Erik imagines pushing him down gently, keeping him safely at bay, and then sheathes his sword and slings his shield onto his back before charging straight for the tornado.

The wind grips him at once, lifting him off his feet and spinning him around and around.  Erik is aware that his mouth is open and he must be screaming but he can’t hear himself over the roar of the wind, only able to see things in wild, twisted flashes as he’s battered in midair.  The world tilts harshly to one side as he’s finally flung free, whirling through the air and landing with a sickening thud on his stomach, sprawled out limply.

He lifts his head, too dizzy to make sense of what Charles is shouting, and his eyes find the bomb bug, only yards away now thanks to Riptide’s help.  He can hear the tornado behind him, coming at him again for more, but Erik yanks out his boomerang and throws it straight for the bomb.

The boomerang lifts the bomb off the bug’s back and arcs back towards him, and Erik ducks, plastering himself down against the grass—he senses rather than hears the two shoot over his head, missing him by millimeters—and then rolls over onto his back just in time to watch as the bomb is dropped down into the center of the tornado one last time.

He shoves himself up to his feet shakily, stumbling a little because his head is still spinning, and then the bomb explodes in Riptide’s face, killing the wind and allowing Erik to rush in for one final attack, bending his knees and pulling out his sword as he leaps through the air, swinging his blade down with a loud cry and cutting straight through the monster at last.

Riptide goes up in a burst of wind and bright light, dying with a scream, and then all that’s left is a strange, ringing silence.

Erik sways, panting harshly, his grip on his sword loose and weak.  It’s over.  He won.

Charles rematerializes beside him, quickly grabbing Erik’s arm and slinging it over his shoulders to keep him from collapsing, holding him up.  “That was incredibly reckless,” he says, sounding a little bit angry but mostly overwhelmingly relieved, “but you did it.”  He lets out a small laugh, unable to help it.  “Erik, you did it!”

Erik smiles wearily as he catches his breath, leaning into Charles’ side willingly and taking the offered support.  Now that the battle is over and won, his adrenaline is wearing down and he’s starting to feel exactly how much he was bruised and battered from being thrown around.

He blinks when light hits his face, and he looks up at the ceiling, squinting.  The burst of light that had escaped Riptide as the monster had died is hovering in midair, growing more and more concentrated as all the light zooms into one point with a high-pitched sound, and then something much more solid appears in the center, haloed by the light.

Even Charles is looking up at the light with wonder, and Erik shrugs gently out of his grasp as the object drifts down closer, taking a couple steps forward and lifting up his hands to catch it.  It settles in his hands, a strange sort of puzzle piece, and he’s surprised by how heavy it is—but then again, it’s fairly thick and appears to be made out of solid gold.

“You’ve got the…that’s…”  For once, Charles seems to be struck speechless as he gazes at the object in Erik’s hands as the glow of light around it slowly fades, diminishing into nothing.  “Better hold on to that for now.  Put it someplace safe.”

Erik obeys, tucking it into his pocket.  The rest of the light from Riptide’s demise has settled on the ground, glimmering softly in a perfect circle, so he walks over to it, looking down curiously.

“That’s a warp point,” Charles provides, following him, “it should take us back to the entrance of the temple.  If you’re done here, we can be on our way.”  He gives Erik a small smile.  “You’ve been amazing, Erik.  I’m proud of you.”  He reaches out tentatively, as if unsure of his welcome, and when Erik makes no move to pull away he takes Erik’s hand.

Erik knocks their shoulders together companionably with a soft snort, because of _course_ he’s been amazing.  Charles shakes his head, exasperated, but he also can’t quite hide his fond grin.  Erik tightens his grip slightly on Charles’ hand, and then walks forward into the light, pulling the smaller boy along with him, leaving the forest temple behind.

For a few moments everything is bright and confusing, and he has the strangest sensation that he’s somehow flying, and then everything settles again and Erik finds himself blinking in sunlight, this time, standing with Charles outside the temple on the edge of the forest.

Charles closes his eyes for a moment, turning his face up towards the sun.  “The darkness here has been cleared away,” he says with a happy sigh, “and the villagers in Ordon are probably waking up now.”

Erik remembers the children with a pang of guilt, his relief for the villagers’ safety quickly slipping away.  He has to find them, and make sure that they’re safe.

Charles opens his eyes again, looking up at Erik seriously.  “We should head north from here,” he says softly, “that’s the only place I can imagine that the monsters have traveled.  There will be more of the darkness that way, but it’s possible that’s where they’ve taken the children.”  His eyes are so very blue, Erik thinks, and so very sincere.  “I _will_ help you find them, Erik.”

Erik swallows and nods.  It’s his burden to bear, because he is supposed to protect them and not finding the children is not an option, but, he realizes, he doesn’t have to bear it alone.  He has Charles—they have each other.

Charles smiles, full and bright, their linked hands swinging gently between them.  “That’s right.”

They’re so close now that Erik can see every freckle on Charles’ face, and he wonders distantly how accurate Charles is with his projection, if his skin really is as soft and smooth as it looks—

He looks away quickly, cheeks burning, and then drops his hold on Charles’ hand when he catches sight of a small patch of the grass he usually uses to whistle for Magneta.  He crouches down beside it, plucking one of the stalks and rolling it between his fingers.  She hadn’t answered his call last time, but now that all of the darkness in the region has been vanquished, perhaps it’s worth another shot.

He raises the grass to his lips and blows, three ascending notes, and then holds his breath to wait.

There’s a long enough silence as to where he starts to believe she isn’t going to come, but then a shrill whinny rings out from within the trees, followed by the sound of galloping hooves.  Magneta comes into view, vaulting over an old fallen log, cantering gracefully through the woods before trotting to a halt in front of Erick with a whicker, dropping her nose to nuzzle his hair.

Erik straightens with a glad laugh, reaching up to stroke her velvety nose, batting her away fondly when she bumps his shoulder, clearly just as glad to see him as he is to see her.  He turns and beckons Charles forward, gripping Magneta’s bridle gently.

“She’s beautiful.” Charles says as he steps closer, but gives an apologetic smile.  “I’m not sure if she can, um, see me, though, since—”

Magneta stretches her neck out to sniff at him, and then snorts directly in his face, making Erik grin at Charles’ shocked expression.  He takes Charles’ hand again, and then puts it gently on Magneta’s nose, and thinks very hard about how soft her pelt is there.

“Oh,” Charles says, his eyes growing wide, “it’s like I can feel her.  She’s so _soft_.”

Erik gives a small smile as he watches.  Having Magneta back will ease their journey considerably, especially if Charles intends for them to travel further north.  While Erik knows these woods fairly well, he’s never been past them, and he’ll feel much better about continuing on horseback than on foot.

He runs a hand across Magneta’s neck as he circles around his horse, grabbing onto her saddle and hoisting himself up, swinging one leg over her back with the ease of familiarity.  She shifts idly beneath him, well-used to his weight, and Erik makes sure to settle into place, fitting his boots into the stirrups.  He thinks about it for a moment and then takes his shield off, tucking it away, before he offers a hand down to Charles.

Charles blinks at him in surprise.  “Oh, I don’t have to ride,” he says quickly, but he looks entirely too hopeful for his words to hold any real weight, “but thank you for the offer, my frie—whoa!”

Erik pulls Charles up into the saddle behind himself, which is fortunately easy to do since Charles isn’t exactly resisting.  He feels Charles settle tentatively into place behind him, and then reaches back to grab the smaller boy’s arms, showing him where to hold on around his waist. 

Charles obeys, stiffly at first, but then he relaxes, wrapping his arms around Erik snugly and pressing his cheek against Erik’s back, murmuring quietly, “Thank you.”

Erik gives another small smile, soft and private, as he steers Magneta back towards the trees, and then urges her into a gallop.  “Yah!”

The green of the forest turns into a blur as Magneta thunders through the forest, sure-footed as she leaps over bushes and weaves through the trees.  Erik glances back over his shoulder only once for one final look at the forest temple, and catches a quick glimpse of it before it’s covered by trees and lost from view.  Sunlight filters down through the leaves and branches, and the heat it brings feels good after so many hours in the dark with only torches to light the way.  At his back Charles is a cool relief, pressed close as they ride.

Magneta finds the path again, so Erik turns her north, urging her onwards.  They ride for some time, coming across no one, and gradually the trees begin to thin as the forest comes to an end.  Erik looks ahead in anticipation, because this is the furthest away from home he’s ever been.

Very suddenly the forest stops altogether, opening up to a vast field, with gently rolling hills that extend out almost further than he can see.  Erik draws back on the reins, bringing Magneta to a halt as he looks out across the plains in wonder, because he’s not sure that he’s ever seen so much empty space before—and then beyond it, tall mountains rise up over everything, huge and almost unreal, as if he’s looking at a painting instead.

“Hyrule Field,” Charles says behind him, looking over Erik’s shoulder, “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?  See that river?”  He points to the stream that cuts through the field in a meandering path, widening out as it extends towards the mountains.  “That eventually feeds into Lake Hylia.  Oh, you should _see_ it, Erik, it’s so—”

He’s cut off by a loud _poof_ , a cloud of black smoke billowing up for a moment directly in front of them on the path.  It clears quickly, and Erik finds himself looking at two of the strangest people he’s ever seen.

The first is a man, but his skin is bright red, which is shocking enough, and then he also appears to have a tail, whipcord thin and ending with a razor-sharp point that traces delicately through the air, never resting.  Even more lethal-looking are the twin blades that Erik can see crossed on his back, because there’s no question that whoever this demon-man is, he knows how to wield them.

Beside him is a woman, and she makes a startling contrast with how pale her skin his, the thin fabric of her immaculate dress spotlessly white.  She is devastatingly beautiful, but her eyes are just as hard and cold as the diamond necklace at her throat, coolly assessing him in a single glance.

Erik grips the reins in his hands firmly, because he knows a threat when he sees one.  Behind him, Charles has gone ramrod straight, his grip on Erik so tight that he can barely draw breath.

“So,” the woman says, taking a graceful step forward, “you’re the one they whisper about.”

Erik locks gazes with her and he feels strange, as if someone is slowly pouring freezing cold water on his head, so that it trickles down his scalp gradually, spreading numbness.  He doesn’t move a muscle even as she comes nearer and nearer—even when Magneta tosses her head nervously, stamping a hoof, Erik remains still, watching the woman in white approach.

“No,” Charles says suddenly, and Erik can feel him shivering, “run, Erik.  We have to run, we have to get away, _run_ —”

The woman stops when she’s level with Erik, tilting her head slightly as she looks up at him.  Erik can’t look away from her eyes, which seem to be looking right through him.  Charles is still talking, tugging at him and pleading with him, but it’s like Erik is underwater and Charles is trying to speak to him from the surface, his voice far away and barely audible.

The woman smiles, and it is both beautiful and terrible all at once.  “You have darkness within you, little boy,” she says, her voice crystal clear, and she reaches up towards him slowly, “I wonder how long before it eats you alive.”

She presses a single finger to his chest, and it’s like the world has fragmented, splintering into a million pieces, and the last thing Erik knows is Charles’ voice, distinct now and screaming his name in an endless echo, before there is nothing.


	5. We'll save everyone

Erik stands in a field, and he is alone.

He looks around slowly, but here there is only an endless sea of knee-high grass, extending out in all directions further than his eyes can see.  His sword and shield are already in his hands, and he grips them loosely, arms hanging limply at his sides.  He is waiting for something.  He can’t remember what.

He cannot feel Charles in his head.

His shadow is long and tall, stretching out in front of him across the grass.  He stares at it for a long moment, because something feels off, something is wrong, before he realizes—he’s not moving.

His shadow is.

Erik tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword and the handle of his shield as his shadow wavers, losing its silhouette and forming into a wide circle, no longer attached to him at all.  It sits there for a moment, a pond of shade, and then its surface begins to ripple.

Something is coming.

“ _You have darkness in you, little boy,_ ” the lady’s voice whispers around him as something begins to rise up out of his shadow—a head, shoulders, torso and arms, and then legs, “ _I wonder how long before it eats you alive._ ”

Erik’s grip on his sword is knuckle-white now, and he lifts his shield.  He’s looking at himself.

The shadow creature resembles him exactly.  It wears the same clothes and carries the same sword and shield, mirroring even his stance as it faces him.  It is entirely black like the shadow it came from, except for its eyes—they glow red, the corners crinkling in amusement as it bares its teeth in the mockery of a grin.

It bends its knees and then leaps at him, dark sword extended.  Erik barely has time to lift his shield before it’s on him, blade slamming down so hard against the wood that his arm jars painfully and he gasps, stumbling back a pace, but before he can recover the shadow strikes again, another bludgeoning blow that knocks Erik completely off his feet, landing hard on his back.

Erik rolls to the side when the shadow’s sword comes smashing down onto the ground where he’d been lying seconds before, the blow so heavy that Erik feels the ground tremble as he scrambles back up to his feet, shield and sword in front of himself defensively.

The shadow straightens slowly, turning to face him once again.  Erik’s panting, heart racing, because out of all the nightmares he’s encountered so far on this strange quest, none have been as terrifying as this creature.  It’s an abomination, every inch of its shadowy body lined with _wrongness_ that Erik can feel just as tangibly as he can feel the sturdy hilt of his sword in his hand, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to fight himself.

It comes at him again and this time Erik doesn’t let its initial crushing blow shock him, instead trying to counter with his own sword, jabbing forward only to meet with wood as the shadow raises its own shield, blocking him.  They exchange a series of quick blows, so fast that Erik can barely keep up, and Erik comes no closer to making even a scratch on his enemy, even while every hit it lands on his shield is so heavy that his shield arm is numb, and he’s losing ground quickly with every step backwards that he takes.

Erik lashes out desperately, his blade flashing through the air, but the shadow meets him head-on, their swords colliding with a loud scrape and locking together, silver caught on black, and for one long moment he’s staring directly into glowing red eyes, their faces drawn close, and he can see himself, reflected back, drawn and pale in the face of this darkness.

They strain against each other, and Erik presses forward with all of his might even as he feels the shadow pressing back, swords still locked, and he has to find a way to get their blades untangled because if it comes down to a show of strength, he’s afraid that he’ll—

His knuckles on the hilt of his sword brush against the shadow’s, and as soon as they come into direct contact Erik’s ears are filled with thousands of screams, shrill and agonized, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once and Erik cries out in shock and fear as everything distorts, thrown into wild confusion as he wrenches himself away, losing his grip on his sword entirely as he stumbles back, clutching at his head.

The screams stop instantly, cut off as soon as he’s no longer in direct contact with the shadow.  Erik gasps for breath, his ears ringing, only dimly aware of the shadow watching him, twirling its sword lazily as it considers him.  His own sword is somewhere in the grass where he dropped it, unreachable.

Erik straightens, slowly letting go of his head.  He still has his shield, gripped tightly in one hand, and his head is slowly clearing, pure fear trickling away and replaced by steely determination: he is Erik, vanquisher of nightmares, he who stands triumphant against old legends; he is the Hero Charles had been searching for, and he will not be defeated—not even by himself.

The shadow bares its teeth again in another twisted grin and then throws its own shield away, so that it holds only its sword.

Erik shifts his shield so that he grips it with both hands, and braces for impact when the shadow leaps at him, bounding forward across the short distance between them.  The shadow cleaves down on the wood, handing its sword more like an axe than a  blade, and Erik heaves back against the blow, shoving forward with his shield to knock the shadow off-balance.  When it takes one step back to regain its footing, Erik slams his shield forward, smashing into its chest, and then ducking when it takes a wild swing at him, the blade whistling by over his head and missing him by centimeters.

He thrusts his shield forward again, knocking the shadow back, and while it stumbles Erik jumps backwards as well, putting distance between them once more.  His arms are aching and he is exhausted, but if he can only get to his sword, which lies a few feet beyond the shadow creature, he knows that he can turn this fight around and win.

With an angry hiss, the shadow lunges forward, flicking its sword through the air so quickly that Erik can barely track its movement.  He blocks the first two strikes, batting them away with his shield, but then the shadow cuts low, and Erik yells as the dark steel slices across his leg, leaving a long, bleeding gash on his thigh above his knee.

The pain is bright and hot, and Erik clenches his eyes shut even as his forces himself forward, ramming into his enemy with as much force as he can.  The blow glances off the shadow’s shoulder, and it spins out of the way, letting Erik stagger past.  The motion puts Erik’s back to the creature, but now there’s nothing between him and his sword, and if he can get there fast enough—

He runs, giving another yell as his injured leg protests with lancing shoots of pain, and he can practically feel the shadow closing in on him behind, black blade poised to—

Erik trips, falling down forward onto the grass, the wind knocked out of him, but he stretches his arm out, reaching desperately for the hilt of his sword until his fumbling fingers close around it, and he rolls onto his back, swinging his sword up—

There’s a slick, wet noise as the shadow freezes in mid-leap, impaled on Erik’s sword.

Erik’s sword arm is shaking with exertion, so he brings his other hand up to clasp the hilt as well, holding his dark doppelganger suspended over himself.  The shadow’s face is twisted in shock, mouth open, its sword digging into the ground beside Erik’s cheek, missing his face by a breath.  Its glowing red eyes are inches from Erik’s, and they seem to burn through him as he feels warm, wet blood trickle down from his blade onto his hands, black and staining.

The shadow lets go of its sword, bringing both hands down to grip the ground on either side of Erik’s head, and then pulls, dragging itself down further onto Erik’s sword, and Erik flinches in horror, trapped beneath it, until its stomach is pressed against the hilt.  Over its shoulder, Erik can see the end of his sword sticking straight up into the air, running all the way through the shadow’s body.

It grabs his face, turning his head so that they’re staring at each other once again, and it gives him one last gruesome grin before its form dissolves, losing its shape of Erik’s body and melting like wax, and Erik opens his mouth to scream but then the shadow flows into him, clogging up his nose and eyes and mouth and Erik can’t move or see or breathe—

Darkness.

 

X

 

He wakes with a ragged gasp, sitting up with a choked cry, his hands flying up to his face.

“Erik!” A familiar voice calls, so much relief poured into his name, and then he’s nearly knocked back over when someone collides with him, arms wrapping around him tightly.

Surprised, Erik brings his hands down from his face, and looks down to discover that it’s Charles clinging to him, face buried in Erik’s shoulder.  Still a little disorientated and a little bemused, Erik slowly lowers his arms down around Charles, so that he’s holding the smaller boy back, keeping them pressed together.  It’s oddly comforting.

“She did something to your mind,” Charles says, his voice muffled by the fabric of Erik’s tunic, “I don’t know what, but I could tell.”

Erik runs a soothing hand across Charles’ back, and very carefully does not think of the—dream?  Vision?—that he had.  He’s not sure what it means, but the shadow creature had come from him, somehow.  He wonders, privately, if it’s inside him even now.

He shudders.

“Oh, sorry,” Charles says quickly, lifting his head and shifting as if to pull away, “I know, I’m cold, I’ll just—”

Erik shakes his head, tightening his grip slightly, enough so that Charles gets the message that it wasn’t him that made Erik shiver.  Charles hesitates for a moment, but then settles back into place, resting his chin on Erik’s shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re awake again,” he says quietly after a few moments, “she—she _did_ something to you, and then she and that other man left, and you wouldn’t wake up.”

Erik just continues to run his hand gently back and forth across Charles’ back, comforting them both.  They’re a few yards off to the side of the road, still on the edge of Hyrule Field.  Magneta is grazing a few feet away, tail swishing back and forth idly, and the sky overhead is a mix of blue and orange as the sun sets, sinking down below the mountains.  He’d been asleep for awhile, then.  Charles had had to worry for a long time.

“Are you okay?” Charles asks, his voice even quieter.  Erik can feel him, in his mind, not intruding but merely pressing close, lining their thoughts up next to each other, basking in Erik’s conscious presence—beneath that, Erik can feel the low hum of Charles’ thoughts as the smaller boy holds their minds anchored together.

Erik nods, and gives Charles a gentle mental nudge.  Charles has quickly become a very important person to him, Erik realizes very suddenly, even though they haven’t known each other for very long at all.  Perhaps it is the way their minds are bonded together, but Erik feels a connection to Charles, one that reaches deeper than mere thoughts.

“I’m fine,” Charles says in answer to Erik’s silent question, and he seems to lean even further in to Erik’s touch without realizing, “they didn’t even notice me, I kept myself hidden.  I was just—just so worried.  About you.”  He gives a small sigh; Erik feels his inhale and exhale.  “But you’re alright.  You’re alright.”

Erik nods again, even as he opens his mouth to yawn widely, jaw cracking.

“You can’t be tired already, you just slept,” Charles protests, but there’s a smile coloring his voice and he wiggles out of Erik’s grip, scooting around behind him and then tapping Erik’s shoulder.  “Here, lie back.”

Erik obeys, lowering himself down, and finds himself with his head in Charles’ lap.  His sword is digging into his back a little, so he sits up again, shrugging off the sheath, and then lies back down, letting the weapon drop into the grass beside him.

“Is this alright?” Charles asks.  He’s smiling gently, blue eyes luminous even in the half-light of the sunset.

Erik stretches luxuriously in answer as Charles chuckles, enjoying every last pop and crack of his joints, flopping out limply on the soft ground.  He’s not tired, exactly, but it does feel good to lie down.  After a moment Charles carefully pulls his hat off, laying it aside, and then his fingers creep into Erik’s hair, tentative at first, and then more boldly when Erik makes no move to brush him away.  Erik settles into place, letting his eyes drift closed as he relaxes.

“My mother used to do this for me when I was small,” Charles says after a few moments, still running his fingers through Erik’s hair.  He pauses, as if debating on saying anything more, so Erik cracks his eyes open to look up at him—Charles is looking out across the field contemplatively, the graceful curve of his neck a sharp silhouette against the dusk sky.  “She and my father would play with me very often, no matter how busy they were.”

Erik lets his eyes slip shut again, confident that Charles will be able to tell that he’s still listening.

“She used to tell me old legends of Hyrule,” Charles continues, his voice as soft as his touches to Erik’s hair, “some of them were very far-fetched, while others almost seemed like they could be true.  Would you like to hear one?”

Erik makes a small noise of affirmation, carefully reaching out with his own thoughts and brushing up against Charles.  Overhead, he feels him shiver.

“There was one she told me called the Great Flood,” Charles says, a little breathlessly at first, not unaffected by the touch of their minds, “and the way it goes is that there once was a great and terrible evil power that was sealed away by the three Golden Goddesses—Din, Goddess of Power; Nayru, Goddess of Wisdom; and Farore, Goddess of Courage—in order to keep Hyrule safe.  Many centuries passed while Hyrule prospered.  One day, however, the evil power broke partially free from the seal, and descended down upon Hyrule, bent on destroying everyone and everything.

“The people of Hyrule appealed to the Goddesses, praying desperately for a Hero to be delivered in order to vanquish the evil power.  But the Goddesses didn’t answer, and no Hero came forth.  The evil power had consumed half of the land before they did finally answer, but instead of sending a Hero, they caused a great flood, causing the ocean to rise up and swallow Hyrule, drowning the land and the evil power with it.”

Erik suddenly recalls bright accusing eyes and a wall of water and flinches, jarring out of his resting pose and sitting up abruptly, pulling away from Charles without truly meaning to.

“Erik?” Charles asks, startled.  “Are you alright?”

Erik rubs his temples briefly.  He can still see her eyes, cutting through him accusingly.

“Oh,” Charles says when Erik quickly hides everything, not allowing him to see, “o-okay.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Erik hunched over his knees with his hands to his head and Charles still sitting cross-legged with his hands clenched tightly in his lap, with nothing but the soft rustling of the grass in the small breeze and an occasional whicker from Magneta breaking the silence as the last visible portion of the sun sinks below the mountains.  Slowly, surely, the vividness of the dream fades and Erik sits up again, moving carefully closer to Charles and hesitating only for a moment before reaching out to take one of his hands in a silent apology.

Charles studies him inquisitively for a moment, but doesn’t prod and finally gives a tiny smile when Erik gently unclenches his fingers so that their hands slide together more naturally.  “The legend goes on to say that a scattered amount of people survived the great flood by climbing up to the tops of mountains, where the water didn’t reach.  In the aftermath of the flood, the mountain tops became islands on a Great Sea.”

Erik can’t imagine being cut off from the rest of the world, trapped on a small island without a choice, with only a handful of other people.  He may have spent his entire life in a small town on the edge of the realm, but it had been always with the knowledge that the rest of Hyrule was still there, sprawled out in all directions, and that if he chose to, he could travel the roads and see the people, see the land.

“Supposedly we are all descendants from the people who survived the Great Flood,” Charles says, still watching Erik’s face even as the last of the light in the sky finally fades and the stars begin to appear, strewn out across the clear night, “because while they lived on the islands of the Great Sea for another few centuries, eventually they all banded together on ships and sailed away in search of a new Hyrule.  The one we live in today.”  He gestures at the field with his free hand before dropping it back into his lap and ducking his head.  “It’s just an old legend, but it’s intriguing, isn’t it?”

Erik shrugs, much more interested in Charles’ cold hand that he still holds.  It’s deceptively delicate, despite its broad, square shape, and has no calluses, unlike his own, which are worn from years of ranch work, and yet Erik knows that Charles’ hands still contain strength—he’d seen the way Charles had wielded his dagger back in Ordon Village, when he’d saved Erik from getting his skull bashed in.

“It sort of makes me wonder,” Charles admits, unaware of Erik’s musings, “the darkness that we’re fighting now almost reminds me of the evil power in the legend.”  He gives a faint, rueful laugh.  “I sincerely hope we’re not about to get flooded.”

Erik snorts, pushing himself up to his feet.  It’s just an old legend.  There won’t be any giant tidal waves that come roaring over the mountains, threatening to drown them all.  There’s no ocean in Hyrule.  He uses his hold on Charles’ hand to pull the smaller boy up as well, letting him get his balance before gently letting go.

“I don’t think we’ll be flooded, though,” Charles says seriously, looking up at Erik still, “not while we have you.”

Erik remembers that Charles called him _Hero_ back in the forest outside of Ordon, but the title bemuses him.  He doesn’t think he’s been chosen by the gods for any special purpose.  It’s just an old legend.

He bends to pick up his sheathed sword where it lies in the grass, swinging it back over his shoulder so that the strap falls diagonally across his chest.  He whistles low for Magneta, and the pretty mare lifts her head, ears perked, before ambling over, barely visible now that night has truly fallen.

Erik grabs onto her bridle, giving it a gentle tug to make sure that she falls into step with him when he starts to walk back towards the trees of the forest.  It’s too dark to continue on now, and it would be foolish and reckless to ride Magneta down a path he doesn’t know when he can barely see.  Now that he’s cleared the forest from nightmares, camping out amongst the trees will offer the best cover for safety, rather than staying out in the open field.

He glances sideways to make sure that Charles is following.  The shorter boy is still standing where Erik left him, seemingly lost in thought with his head bowed, but he looks up quickly at Erik’s mental nudge, trotting over to rejoin them.

“Sorry,” he says in lieu of explanation as he falls into step beside Erik.  “You should really try to catch up on some real rest tonight, though, Erik.  Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

Erik makes a noncommittal noise, recalling his dark doppelganger.  He doesn’t think he’ll sleep.

Not tonight.

 

X

 

Dawn breaks early but Erik is up to greet it, sitting with his back to a tree trunk with his sword lying flat across his thighs as he watches strains of color and light slowly filter into the sky as the sun begins to rise.  He’s managed to snatch a few scant hours of sleep during the night, but then his dreams became too twisted, always of him running and running and running but never fast enough to outrun the water—and sometimes his shadow behind him wasn’t just his shadow—so he gave up on sleep entirely, sitting quiet and still and waiting for the day to begin.

He doesn’t know what the dreams about water mean.  He always has a choice, to save either Charles or the girl Raven—who Charles inexplicably knows in the dream, though Erik is sure that the smaller boy has never mentioned her before in the waking world—and he is never able to save them both.

He never finds out what happens after the water hits.  Perhaps they _all_ drown.

And when his darker half appears, he comes with a great bloody stain on his front, visible even on the black tunic, right over his stomach, and every time he swallows Erik whole.

Charles flickers back into sight, yawning widely.  He’d explained to Erik last night that while his actual body was sleeping, his mind technically wasn’t—not while he was projecting himself, at least.  While his mind was resting, he was unable to keep projecting himself, so Erik had been left alone for what feels like the first time in a long time.

He’s glad that Charles is back.

“Good morning,” Charles greets him cheerfully, catching sight of him at once, “did you sleep well?  We’d best continue on our way soon.”

Erik climbs to his feet, brushing off dirt and leaves before stretching, slipping his sword back into its sheath with a soft scrape.  He heads over to where he’s tethered Magneta, giving her neck a gentle stroke and untying her, swinging himself up into the saddle.  Charles smiles when Erik offers him a hand, this time unhesitating in accepting and allowing Erik to pull him up.  Erik waits for Charles to settle in behind him before urging Magneta into a trot.

He hadn’t wandered too far back into the trees the night before, so it isn’t long before they’re back on the edge of Hyrule Field.  Dawn looks just as brilliant over the field as dusk had, the tall grass glistening with dew.  As soon as they’re clear from the trees, Erik kicks Magneta into a gallop and she gladly obeys, her hooves pounding across the ground as they return to the road.

There is no one else that Erik can see on the vast plain, let alone on the road, so he lets Magneta run, enjoying the rush of air that serves as a refresher, cool and sharp against his face.  Charles holds on, perhaps a little bit more tightly than he actually needs to, but Erik doesn’t correct him, allowing him to cling and keep their bodies close; a cool press against his back.

The road gradually meanders northward, and soon they reach the river that makes its way across the field, so Erik pulls back on Magneta’s reins to slow her.  There’s a small grove of trees along with a wide bridge that spans the width of the river, even though the water looks shallow enough to cross on foot.  Instead of guiding Magneta across the bridge he rides her down to the water’s edge, stopping and allowing her to drink.

“Do you see where the road splits?” Charles asks, peering over Erik’s shoulder.

Erik looks.  On the other side of the river, the road splits in two, one fork continuing on north towards the mountains while the other takes a hard left, heading off to the west.

“We want the north road,” Charles says decisively, “we should head for Kakariko Village.  I fear that darkness has gathered there as well.  Plus we may even find a lead on the children.”

Erik feels determination well up inside him.  He will find Alex, Sean, Angel, and Hank no matter what the cost.  The villagers back in Ordon must be worried sick about the missing children, but Erik hopes that Alex’s father has found the wooden sword on the wall in place of the steel sword, and knows that Erik is doing everything within his power to find them again and to see them safely home.

When Magneta has drank her fill, Erik turns her away from the river and back onto the road, clopping loudly across the wooden bridge.  They break into a gallop again once they reach the other side, ignoring the west road in favor of heading north, all while the sun rises higher into the sky.

The mountains seem to grow taller and taller as they draw closer and closer to their base, and Erik cranes his neck back to look up at the craggy rock in something close to awe.  There are mountains near Ordon to the south, sort of, but these mountains make those seem like hills.

There is a narrow mountain pass that the road leads up to, narrowing considerably and quickly disappearing around a sharp corner.  Erik slows Magneta down to a trot, looking up at the tall, sheer walls of rock that jut upwards harshly on either side of the path.

“Supposedly a very wise shaman lives in Kakariko Village,” Charles says as they draw closer to the opening, “I wonder if he knows anything about the darkness.”  He adds in a quieter voice, “Unless he’s asleep too.”

Grimly, Erik suspects that if the rest of the realm is, the shaman of Kakariko Village is probably no different.  Then again, _he’s_ awake, even if he’s not quite sure how.  He assumes it has something to do with Charles, because even though he’s asleep, Charles is still here, and Erik himself has been dreaming about Charles for a long time.

Magneta steps into the shade of the mountains, making her way surefootedly along the narrow, rocky path and leaving Hyrule Field behind.  It’s cooler here—out on the plains, it had been gearing up to be a hot day, but here in the mountain pass the air is still crisp, protected as it is from direct sunlight.  The sky has narrowed to a small patch of blue high overhead, and Erik helps Magneta navigate carefully, her hoof beats echoing slightly off the rock.

They ride for some time, encountering no one, even though Erik keeps a sharp ear out for any other noises beside their own, his hand loose at his side, ready to fly backwards to grasp the hilt of his sword at any given second.  The path is clear, though, and gradually widens out again as they pass between the two giant mountains on either side, stepping out into a wide, dusty canyon.

There’s a large, round pond of fresh water tucked into the side, so Erik dismounts, sliding down out of the saddle and wincing a little as he straightens—he hasn’t ridden this long in quite awhile—and then turns to help Charles down before leading Magneta over to the water.

Further along the wide canyon, buildings line the walls, facing each other with the road running straight down the middle in between them.  There are a whole cluster of them, ranging in shape and size, and while they show signs of recent and good upkeep, there is no one in sight—it’s like a ghost town.

“Kakariko Village,” Charles says, but he looks and sounds weary as he surveys the small town, “everyone must be asleep.  I’d thought that maybe, since it’s so remote…”

Erik puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a small squeeze.  He can feel the pure sorrow coming from the shorter boy, unconsciously projected—Charles truly _feels_ for these people, even though he knows none of them personally.  That alone would be enough for Erik to want to help, if he didn’t already.

Charles offers him a smile, his sorrow gradually furling into hope.  “We’ll save them,” he agrees, brow furrowing.  “We’ll save _everyone_.”

Erik leaves Magneta wallowing in the pond, which she seems more than content to do.  She certainly deserves it after a long morning of riding.  He walks further into the village, taking his shield back out and slipping it on his back, over his sword—just in case he needs it within easy grabbing reach.

“Erik, come look!” Charles has gone over to the closest house, standing on tiptoes so that he can peer in through a window, beckoning Erik over with one arm.

He obeys, his boots kicking up dry dust as he walks over to join Charles at the window.  He feels a little self-conscious at first to be looking into someone’s home so blatantly, but then he’s gripping the sill tightly, weak with relief.

Through the dim lighting inside, he can make out the sleeping forms of Sean, Alex, Angel, and Hank curled close together on a large rug.  There are two more people in room that Erik doesn’t recognize, also deeply asleep, but Erik only has eyes for the children—he’s _found_ them.  They’re unharmed, and they’re safe.

Charles is smiling softly at him.  “I’m glad that you’ve found them, Erik.”

Erik tears his gaze away from the window, looking over at Charles, because without Charles he never would have gotten this far.  He knows this for certain.  Charles promised that he would help Erik find the children, and he’s kept his word—now it’s time for Erik to keep his.

“Right,” Charles agrees with a nod, though his cheeks are flushed a little, “if everyone here is asleep, there must be darkness close by.  _Something_ is holding the spell over the village.”

Erik takes one last look in through the window—they’re fine, they’re safe, they’re only asleep—before turning away resolutely, focusing on the task at hand.  He’ll see them again when they’re awake.  Just knowing that they’re alive and unharmed is enough for now.

The rest of Kakariko is just as quiet, with no signs of life—or at least conscious life.  It’s relieving to find that there are no nightmares lurking anywhere amongst the buildings, which is a far cry from how much Ordon had been infested.  Try as he might to avoid it, Erik still feels himself being lulled into a false sense of security—it’s hard not to, with the only sounds in the entire village being his footsteps, the occasional _chink_ of his sword as it shifts in its sheath, and the low whistling of the wind as it blows dry air through the canyon.

Together he and Charles walk further down the canyon, leaving Kakariko somewhat behind as they pass the last building.  Here the canyon diverges—one way is blocked by a tall, wooden gate that is locked shut, while the other arm of the canyon heads upwards, back into the mountains, the path quickly twisting out of view.

“Only one way to go.” Charles says with a shrug when Erik glances at him.

Erik starts up the path, Charles close behind him.  They won’t go too far this way, he decides, if it looks like they’re going to be led too far away from the village.  But it certainly won’t hurt to at least take somewhat of a look.

They round the first corner, edging around an enormous boulder that has fallen down from the canyon wall above, and run smack into darkness.

“It’s just like the forest,” Charles realizes, looking up at the dark wall that towers over them, “we just couldn’t see it because of all the mountains.”  He pauses, and then makes a small sound of surprise.  “Of _course_.  Next to Kakariko Village is Death Mountain.  Whatever it is that’s holding the spell in this region is hiding in the volcano—in the Goron Mines.”

Erik raises an eyebrow.  He’s heard of the Gorons, a rock-eating race that often resemble rocks themselves.  He’s never seen one, though.  Death Mountain is their home, despite the fact that it is a large and often very active volcano—at least according to the small bits of news that trickle down to Ordon Village every so often.  The Goron Mines are famous, however, for all of the rare gemstones that are produced.

“The Gorons must be asleep too,” Charles says, “trapped within the darkness.  We’ve got to root whatever it is holding the spell out of the mines.”

He’s right, of course.  Erik rolls his shoulders, looking up at the tall wall of darkness.  He can’t see past it, but he imagines that somewhere within the blackness is the volcano Charles is talking about, so all he has to do is get to it and find a way down into the mines.  He’s not keen on leaving behind the light of day again, but at least he won’t be going alone.

“Are you ready, Erik?” Charles asks him.

Erik draws his sword and dons his shield, giving the blade one lazy twirl in answer, and then steps forward into the dark.

Passing through the wall is like stepping through a cold waterfall, even though he doesn’t get wet.  Unlike the forest, though, it’s not completely pitch black—there is a strange, red glow cast over everything, and it takes him a few moments to figure out why.

Now that they’re standing within the boundaries of the darkness, Erik can see the volcano looming up above them.  The red glow is originating from its crater, presumably where hot, churning magma is bubbling, not high enough yet to boil over but certainly bright enough to pierce the omnipresent darkness that has fallen over the mountain.

“Incredible,” Charles says in awe, looking up at the volcano, “it must be quite a sight when it erupts.”

Erik agrees, though he’s not sure that he ever wants to be close enough to actually see it happening—the people of Kakariko Village must be very certain of themselves, building their homes not far from the foot of this place.

“I bet this path leads all the way up to the mines,” Charles says, “let’s go.”

The shadows are still long and deep, but the glow of volcano is enough light for Erik to be able to start picking his way up the canyon, slotting his boots into footholds and his hands into handholds whenever he can, climbing up the rocks.  He encounters no monsters, fortunately, except for a handful of Keese up on a ledge, which he quickly dispatches with a few well-aimed slashes of his sword.

Finally, at long last, he clambers up out of the canyon and onto a wide, flat plateau that sits right at the base of the volcano.  There’s a small lava flow trickling down the mountain, though it’s far enough away as to where it hopefully won’t become a problem.  Erik can feel the mountain, somehow, like a low buzz beneath his boots, as if the volcano is brimming with pent-up energy that is dying to be released—and technically, it is exactly.

“Don’t worry,” Charles assures him, “it won’t erupt.  The Gorons keep long and extensive records of Death Mountain’s eruptions, and I’m fairly certain that the last major one happened fifty-odd years ago.”

Erik’s not as reassured as Charles probably meant, but nevertheless he squares his shoulders and starts off towards the steel scaffolding structures that he can make out on the mountainside.  There’s a network of ladders and platforms, presumably built by the Gorons, so Erik climbs, well aware that he’s literally about to walk into fire.

He reaches the top platform, which serves as the front doorstep to a large, yawning hole in the side of the rock, with a dark passageway leading down and into the mountain.  Erik exchanges a glance with Charles and then jogs forward, leaving the rest of the world behind.

Heat.

The heat hits him like a wall, sucking every last bit of moisture out of the air as he descends further into the mountain, making it hard to breathe at first before his lungs painfully adjust, leaving him gasping for breath while Charles watches worriedly.  He doesn’t stop running, though, until the passageway ends and he steps out into a wide room where the air practically shimmers.

Molten magma churns in a wide pond, the surface on fire, with a few large bubbles building up before bursting, sending hot liquid splashing through the air.  A complex system of pipes lines the wall, steaming, their dials and gauges written in a language that Erik can’t read.  Rocky ledges rise up out of the magma, leading across the flow—if Erik wants to cross, he’s going to have to jump.

“The Goron Mines,” Charles says quietly beside him, his projected form distorted slightly by the heat.

Or maybe that’s just Erik’s vision.

“Are you going to be alright?” Charles asks, not without some trepidation as he watches Erik.

Erik wipes his brow, already slick with sweat, but starts forward, walking up to the edge of the magma pond.  The temperature only skyrockets, but he’s determined to not allow it to affect him—this is only the beginning of the mines, so they still have a long way to go.  He looks down at the magma below, and then at the nearest rock.  If he gives himself space, he can make the jump.

He backs up and then darts forward, throwing his arms out for balance.  He lands easily on his feet in the center of the rock, with plenty of room to spare.  Alright.  He can do this.

Erik hops his way across the magma, always making certain to keep an eye out for the build-up of the bubbles, because he doesn’t want to make the mistake of jumping over one right as it bursts.  He reaches the other side of the magma flow without incident, and he feels rather than sees Charles’ relief.

The room keeps extending back, so Erik follows a worn sort of path, battering his way through some thin wooden boards as the ground slopes downwards.  The rock ends but the Gorons have built steel platforms—Erik is suddenly desperately grateful for his boots—over the lava, even though now he’s practically level with the fiery surface as he jogs down.  There is a wire mesh between him and the edge, and also overhead, creating a sort of cage.

The steel platform hugs the wall, but then suddenly Erik comes to a skidding halt when he realizes that directly in front of him, a huge jet of open flames blocks the path.

He’s at a loss.  A Goron with a rock-like body might be able to walk through fire, but if he so much as takes another step, he’ll go up in flames and that’ll be the end of it.  There’s no way to get around the jet, either—the flames are long enough to extend several feet out over the magma.

“Erik, look at this!” Charles calls.

Erik doubles back to where Charles has stopped, a little further back from the jet.  There’s a small alcove in the wall that he missed, too focused on heading forward.  On the ground, there’s a square sort of—

“A button,” Charles supplies, “I think it’s a button.  I don’t think there’d be any harm in giving it a press, do you?”

Erik steps on it, and it sinks down a little, but nothing happens.  He jumps up and stomps down on it, and _there_ —it sinks all the way down and locks into place with a loud click.  Up ahead, the jet of flames flickers out and the way is clear.

Charles flushes and gives a pleased smile when Erik gives him a grateful nudge, saying lightly, “It was nothing, my friend, I just happened to catch sight of it out of the corner of my eye.”

Erik heads along the platform, successfully passing the spot on the wall where the flames had been shooting out, stepping past the last of the wire mesh.  Now there’s nothing between him and the lava, the platform coming to an abrupt end.  He stops and pants for a moment, still laboring to breathe in the nearly unbearable heat, and is momentarily stumped—where is he supposed to go now?—until he turns around and catches sight of the ladder on the side of the mesh.

Oh.  He should’ve realized that sooner.  The heat must be getting to him.

He climbs up quickly, hoisting himself up onto the top of the mesh.  He jogs across it, running until the platform ends again, but at this level there’s a narrow rock ledge leading along the side of the cavern so he steps onto it, keeping his balance carefully.

There’s another jet of flames in the way, this one facing him directly, projecting the flames towards him along the rock ledge.  The rock ledge takes a hard left past the flames, leading to a door, completely unreachable if he can’t get past the fire.  This time the button to stop the flames is in plain sight, so Erik stomps on it, pressing it down into place.  The jet of flames closes up, leaving the way clear, but a quiet ticking sound starts up, gradually growing faster and faster.

“It’s a timer,” Charles realizes, talking quickly, “you’re going to have to hurry, Erik, this time the flames won’t stay off.  Run!”

Erik obeys, running along the rock ledge straight towards the hole where the flames had been coming out.  The timer is ticking furiously now, and he can see the grate over the hole slowly starting to open again, the red glow of flames already visible, as it opens wider—

He throws himself to the side just as the flames shoot out again in a hot blast of air, landing hard on his stomach on the next portion of the rock ledge, where he lies still for a moment, heart racing.  He can feel the searing heat of the flames just behind him, making the backs of his legs hurt, but he feels too drained to move just yet—and, he reasons dully, it’s so hot he can’t even tell if he’s on fire or not.

Charles crouches down beside him and puts one cold hand on Erik’s forehead, his other resting on Erik’s shoulder.  The relief is small but immediate, and Erik leans into the touch, using it as a focal point—it feels good, and it helps him straighten his head out.

“You’re worrying me,” Charles admits, “if you start to get too overheated, we _have_ to turn back.”

Erik shakes his head, pushing himself back up to his feet, careful not to back into the jet of flames just behind him.  They’ve come this far, and if he gives up now, it’s not like there’s anyone else.  He’s the only one.  He offers a hand down to Charles to help pull him up, which Charles accepts, but Erik doesn’t miss the look Charles is giving him even though he pretends to ignore it.

He walks the rest of the way over to the door, Charles padding along beside him silently, and rolls the door aside, stepping into the next room.

This room is much smaller.  There’s a wide, flat rock ledge that Erik steps out onto as the door rolls shut again behind him.  There’s another pool of magma, much smaller than the one in the previous room, and Erik can see the door to the next room—except it’s on another rocky ledge high above the magma pool, very much out of reach.

There’s a loud hiss and a geyser of magma shoots upwards out of the pool for a few seconds, a tall column of liquid fire that has Erik taking an automatic step back, even if he’s far enough away to not be splashed by it.  It dies down again, and the pool is still again for another few moments, before the geyser shoots upwards for another few seconds, on and off like clockwork.

“Do these really contain water?” Charles asks suddenly, and Erik tears his gaze away from the magma, turning around to face him.

There are three large pots in the corner between the door he’d come through and the pool of magma, each with a large water drop painted on crudely.  Erik hoists the first one, and when he feels liquid sloshing around inside, he lifts it up and turns it over on top of his head, drenching himself with water and earning a laugh from Charles.

“Well that solves that mystery,” he says, sounding amused, “does it feel good?”

Erik blinks water out of his eyes.  The water had been fairly warm, but he certainly feels cooler now that his clothes are damp.  The water on the ground is almost completely dried, the wet spot on the rock disappearing quickly, and Erik imagines that it won’t take long for his clothes to follow suit, but at least for now it’s a brief relief.

It does not, however, offer any sort of inspiration or help as to how he’s supposed to reach the next door.

Before he can ponder the dilemma any further, something else in the magma beside the geyser begins to move.  Erik can only stand still, watching in both horror and fascination, as the surface of the magma shifts, and a giant, centipede-like bug crawls out onto the ledge, its many legs moving in tandem.  Its back has thick, platy armor that smolders with flames, and when it sees Erik with its single, turquoise eye it snaps its claw-like pincers loudly, rearing up on its hind legs so that it towers at his height.

“A Magtail,” Charles says, taking a step back, “hit it in the eye, Erik.”

Erik draws his sword and readies his shield.  This shouldn’t be too hard.

He lifts his shield and steps forward, blade first.  He takes an experimental jab at the Magtail, aiming for its near-glowing eye, but the monster snaps its pincers shut on the blade, stopping him.  Erik twists his arm, wrenching his sword out of the monster’s grip, and that’s when the Magtail lunges forward, throwing its considerably thick body at him with the intent to crush.

Erik rolls out of the way at the Magtail hits the ground, barreling into one of the two remaining pots of water.  The pot shatters with a loud crash, but Erik only has eyes for Charles, who is now trapped in the corner with the monster looking right at him.

Charles presses back against the rock wall as the Magtail crawls towards him, pincers opening and shutting menacingly.  “Erik!”

Erik leaps at it from behind, slamming his sword down on its back.  As he’d expected, it doesn’t do much—his sword bounces right off with a loud clang, no damage done—but he breathes a sigh of relief as the Magtail rounds on him, rearing up again, forgetting about Charles entirely.

Erik feints, jabbing forward again but pulling his arm back quickly before the Magtail’s pincers can close on his blade.  Then he lashes forward again, reaching over the monster’s gruesome mouth, and slashes at its eye, landing the fatal blow.  The monster dies with a shriek, dropping back down and flailing on the ground before curling in on itself and bursting into a cloud of black smoke.

“Thank you,” Charles says, pushing himself off the wall and brushing himself off, looking a little self-conscious as he steps back over to Erik.  “Ever since that giant moth in the forest temple—I guess I don’t like pincers.”  He laughs weakly.

Erik sheathes his sword, and without really thinking about it, runs his hand lightly through Charles’ hair.  The gesture is quick and easy, and makes Charles smile, a little shy, so Erik turns away back to the magma under the pretense of looking again for a way up to the next door.

Also, perhaps the heat will disguise his flush.

“Look at that,” Charles says in surprise.

The water from the pot the Magtail had smashed has spilled into the magma, somehow creating a thin slab of crusty-looking rock that floats on the surface of the pool.  After a few more moments, it sinks back down into the magma and is consumed.

Erik looks back at the last pot of water, and then at the geyser.

“No,” Charles says, “absolutely not.”

Erik ignores him, and picks up the pot.  He’s going to have to aim carefully and time this right, especially since this is the last pot left—he’s only got one shot at this.

“ _Erik_ ,” Charles protests, “what if it sinks while you’re on it, what if the geyser _flips it over_ while you’re on it, it’s too dangerous—”

The geyser bubbles down, and Erik hurls the pot of water directly at it.  The ceramic shatters upon hitting the surface of the magma, and the water fans out in a loud hiss, forming another thin slab of rock.  Erik takes a flying leap out over the magma, landing on top of the floating rock, arms thrown out wide for balance.  The rock sways underneath him unsteadily, but it does not sink.

He looks back across the pool at Charles, who is watching with wide, terrified eyes, and throws him a grin just as the geyser shoots up beneath him.

Erik gives a whoop as the slab of rock rises up on top of the geyser, carefully keeping his balance as he comes to a hovering stop just in front of the ledge with the door.  He hops off his makeshift platform, back onto solid ground, and the geyser cuts out again, his rock slab plummeting back down into the pool with an audible thud and sinking beneath the surface.

“Alright, fine, it worked,” Charles says as he floats up on his own to join Erik, disgruntled in the face of Erik’s smirk, “but that was incredibly dangerous, please don’t do it again.”

Erik flicks him companionably, because it’s not like he’d done it just to play around—it’d been the only way to get up to the next door.  He’s not being baselessly reckless.

“Yes, well.”  Charles grabs his hand, boldly lacing their fingers together, his expression a little softer now.  “I’m still allowed to worry.”

Erik rolls his eyes, but he gives him a small squeeze too, keeping his hold on Charles’ hand even as he shoulders the door open, rolling it aside.  They step through the doorway together, and Erik thinks he sort of likes the feeling of Charles’ hand in his.

For the moment, though, they both come to a stop together in awe.

This next cavern is enormous, and Erik thinks that they’ve found the central volcanic cavity of the magma, judging by how much of it is bubbling below.  There are all sorts of platforms and heavy machinery built around the edges, abandoned for the time being—where _are_ the Gorons?—and frozen in place.  Directly across from them is a giant, wooden platform that’s folded up away from them, held up by rope.

There are lots of little alcoves on the wall around it, and Erik squints across the chasm.  It looks like there are monsters perched on each ledge, and they’re all holding what looks like—

There’s a sharp twang and then a loud whistle, and an arrow clatters off the rock, missing Erik’s boot by a foot.

“Watch out!” Charles cries.

Erik yanks Charles behind himself as the monsters let more arrows fly, holding up his shield for protection.  Most of the arrows miss, bouncing off the rock wall behind them harmlessly as they shoot past, but there’s a loud _thunk_ as one arrow buries itself into the wood of Erik’s shield, the jagged tip poking through the other side.

He hisses in pain at the sudden flare of heat against his hands, and it only takes a moment to find out why—the arrow had been on fire.  His entire shield ignites, burning down to ash in his hands in a matter of moments, and Erik can only stare blankly at his gloves—his heirloom shield is gone.


	6. That's one way to go about it

“Erik!” Charles shouts, as another arrow whistles past his head.  “We can’t linger here, they’re still shooting at us!”

Erik blinks, snapping out of his stupor, and then tightens his grip on Charles’ hand, pulling the shorter boy along with him as he runs, keeping himself between Charles and the arrows.  The platform they’re on runs up along the side of the chamber, leading up to another door that’s tucked into the rock.  Erik ducks under an arrow that cuts particularly close, and then throws himself against the door, nudging it open as fast as he can and together they duck inside, safe and out of range.

“Are your hands alright?  Let me see them,” Charles says immediately as soon as the door rolls shut behind them, reaching for Erik’s other hand.

Erik pulls his gloves off and stands still, letting Charles examine him as he surveys their surroundings distantly.  His shield is gone.  It’d hung on his wall in his house for as long as he can remember, and now it is gone.

“It looks like your gloves kept you from being burnt,” Charles reports, somewhat reluctantly letting go, “so I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”  He pauses, and then adds gently, “It was a good shield.  But I’d rather that it be hit by that arrow than you.”

Erik pulls his gloves back on.  Charles is right.  He lost his shield, but at least an arrow hadn’t punched through his chest.

It’s distinctively quieter in this room, and he abruptly realizes why—there’s no magma present.  The air is still hot but instead a pool of magma, they’re standing on the edge of a pool of water.  Erik doesn’t hesitate—he runs straight to the water and jumps in with a tremendous splash.

He lets himself sink—he can literally feel the sweat and grime he’s accumulated over the past two days being washed away.  This water is much cooler than the water that had been in the pot, and which is surprising but welcome—perhaps even the Gorons need to cool down every now and then.  He kicks back up to the surface, rolling over onto his back to float.

Charles is laughing at him.  “Feeling better?”  Carefully, almost as if he’s unsure that it will work, he picks his way out across the surface of the water, walking on top of it as if it were still solid ground and coming to a stop beside Erik where he floats, standing over him.

Erik reaches over lazily to wrap his hand around Charles’ boot at his ankle, stretching luxuriously where he floats.  He’s starting to sink a little as his clothes and boots soak through and pull him down, but he stays for a moment, because the water feels too good.

Charles bends, deftly brushing a wet lock of hair off Erik’s forehead.  “I’m glad,” he says, his eyes reflecting the water and turning incredibly blue.  “I don’t want you to overheat.”

Erik splashes at him, even though he knows the water will go right through him, and then swims a couple laps, relishing in the feeling of the water flowing past him.  He used to swim a lot back home, in the small pond that was only a few yards out from his house, and if he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that he’s back there, taking a swim after a hard day’s work on the ranch.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s still in a cave deep inside a volcano, with Charles as his companion, and Erik’s not actually sure where he wants to be more.

“The next door is locked,” Charles reports, pointing over towards the other side of the pond, “but if you stop splashing around, I think I can see a chest on the bottom of the pond over there.”

Erik splashes at him again, grinning when Charles gives a rueful chuckle, and then kicks his way over to the corner he’d indicated.  Sure enough, if he peers past the turbulent surface of the water, he can make out a chest sitting on the bottom.  Erik takes a deep breath and dives down to it, flipping open the lid and grabbing onto the edge so he can reach down inside.  When his fingers close around a small, metal object, he plants his feet on the bottom and pushes off, shooting back up to the surface.

“You’ve got the small key!” Charles remarks when Erik holds it up to show him.  “When you’ve had your fill of the water, we should carry on.”

Erik treads water for a few more moments, idly making his way over to the far ledge.  He pulls himself up out of the water, settling into a sitting position on the rock and taking his boots off one at a time to dump the water out—as pleasant as the water feels, he’s not about to run around with all the extra weight of it.  Charles walks over to join him, watching him as he slips his boots back on.

Erik leans over the pond, drawing some water in his palms and using it to scrub at his face, coughing a little as he gets the worst of the grime off.  Then he draws up a new handful and takes a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he’s finished, climbing to his feet.

He makes sure that no water has gotten into his sheath and then uses the small key on the lock, the chains falling away with a soft rattle.

They’re back in a room with magma, the heat making the air shimmer, but this time it’s expected, even though Erik can already feel his clothes drying.  There are three large ledges, each in a separate corner of the room, separated by a wide magma flow that is dotted with a few small outcroppings of rock in between that will hopefully be close enough to jump across.

In the center of the two ledges is a door, walled in on both sides by thick bars.  A third stone slab blocks the way to the door entirely, but on the ledge to the left, Erik can see a chain lying on the ground that’s hooked to the slab—if he can make it over there, he can use it to pull the slab out of the way.

“Be careful,” Charles cautions.

Erik jumps out onto the first rock, and steadily makes his way across the magma flow.  He reaches the ledge on the right of the walled-off door first, where a very strange-looking lizard sits, its thick skin a dull green color.  It sees him and hisses, orange tail sticking up straight as it opens its jaws wide and spits out fire at him.  Erik jumps out of the way, reaching back to grab the hilt of his sword.

The lizard stays frozen in place as it breathes out its flames, so Erik circles around behind it and slashes at its tail.  It snarls, flames cutting off abruptly, and its claws scrabble on the rock as it turns around to face him, bulging eyes rolling around to fix on him.  It readies itself and spits out flames again, tail standing up straight.

Erik jumps out of the way again, getting a feel for its slow attack pattern, and circles around behind it once more, this time getting in two quick slashes at its tail.  Like the Magtail, the lizard writhes as it dies, its tail curling up before it explodes into the familiar cloud of black smoke.

There’s another pathway of rocks leading over to the ledge on the left, so Erik hops back out onto the first one, leaping over the magma.  He concentrates on his footing, and on landing precisely in the center of each rock, passing in front of the thick rock slab that blocks his way to the door.

“Look out!”  Suddenly Charles’ arms wrap around his chest from behind, and Erik nearly loses his balance entirely as the smaller boy tugs him backwards, stopping him from making the next leap.

A geyser of magma shoots up into the air, exactly where Erik had been just about to jump over.

“Sorry,” Charles mumbles into the back of Erik’s shoulder, where he’s pressed his face, “I just didn’t want you to get burnt alive.”

Erik stays frozen where he is for a few moments, heart still pounding from the close call.  If Charles hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t pulled him back…

Charles lets go of him, stepping back a pace, but Erik turns around to face him, reaching out to brush the back of his hand across the smaller boy’s cheek gently, feather-light.  Charles, whose eyes had been wide, relaxes slightly and breaks into one of his near-blinding smiles, relief evident on his face.

“You’re welcome,” he says sincerely, and Erik makes the rest of his way to the last rock ledge, this time always looking before he leaps.

There’s a lizard on this ledge too and Erik makes short work of it, not even giving it time to spit its fire before he runs around it, slashing at its tail until it dies.  He slips his sword back into its sheath and then trots over to the chain connecting to the rock slab where it lies in a shallow groove in the floor, bending over to pick it up and backing up to pull.

The rock is heavy, but Erik is strong and slowly but surely he pulls it back, straining with the chain.  Finally he’s pulled the slab as far back as the groove in the floor will allow, dropping the chain with a loud clang.  There’s a moment’s pause, and then with a low rumble, the rock slab slowly starts to slide back into place.

“Hurry, Erik!”

Erik turns and runs, jumping back across the rocks—stopping on the one right in front of the geyser and waiting for it to blow, even if he does bounce impatiently on the balls of his heels—and then leaps onto the ledge between the two walls, darting forward and squeezing past the rock slab right before it slides into place.  Now he’s trapped between the two walls and the rock slab, but the door is in front of him.

“You made it,” Charles says with no small relief, “I was afraid you’d have to jump all the way back again across that magma to retry.”

Erik flicks him in the shoulder lightly because honestly, it’s not that bad.  He’s never even come close to falling, he’s just had the one close call.  As long as he has Charles looking out for him, he’s not worried.

“I’d still rather avoid it,” Charles tells him anyway, even when he struggles not to smile.

Erik rolls the door aside, and he steps into darkness.

It’s pitch black once the door shuts behind him, and he stays still for a moment, listening.  It’s so dark that he’s fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to see his own hand in front of his face, and it’s deathly quiet here; his own breathing seems abnormally loud.  At least it is cooler here, a nice relief from the previous room—his once-damp clothes are already bone dry again.

He recalls his lantern, so he digs it out and lights it up, holding it up to see.  He gets a brief look at a long, narrow, low-ceilinged cave before there are suddenly many, many eyes looking down at him from overhead and he is under attack.

“Fire Keese!” Charles cries as they swoop down, wings smoldering brightly as they chatter loudly, sharp claws extended.

Erik nearly drops his lantern as he fumbles for his sword, clipping it onto his belt with one hand while he twirls his blade, batting the flying fireballs away before they can get too close.  There’s a whole swarm of them, and they hover overhead while they’re not trying to attack, limiting Erik’s mobility.  Everything is a confusing jumble of shadows as his lantern swings wildly on his belt and the Fire Keese flutter around, all of the moving light throwing strange shadows around the cavern.  He has to fend off three of them that have gone after Charles, slicing at them while the smaller boy ducks, shielding his head with his arms.

One of the Fire Keese swoops down, digging its claws into Erik’s shoulder.  He spins with a shout, blade slashing up to cut the monster away, but not before its flaming body has lit his sleeve on fire.  Erik pats it out frantically, glad that his gloves are thick, and then whirls again, sword arcing through the air and taking out the rest of the Fire Keese all in one go.

“Well that was exciting,” Charles says faintly, sounding shaken.  He straightens slowly from his defensive position, letting his arms drop.

Erik unclips his lantern from his belt, holding it up again.  There is an unlit torch in the center of the room so he swipes the lantern over it, lighting it up, before tucking the lantern away—it’s already low on oil and he has no more spare oil, so it wouldn’t make sense to waste it.  With the torch lit, the cavern is illuminated with a warm glow, and Erik is able to see better.

The cavern is long and narrow, just as he glimpsed before, and at the end of it there’s another door being blocked by thin bars.  There must be some kind of trick to raise them—

“Your arm!” Charles says suddenly, coming over to him immediately.  “Your sleeve, it’s—”

Erik looks down and realizes that the sleeve of his tunic is still smoking slightly.  He must have not gotten it all the way put out.  He pats it solidly a few more times, brushing it off, and there—it’ll be a little singed, but at least it’s not on fire.  He catches Charles’ hand deftly before he can do and examination of his own and tugs him gently down the length of the cavern as he heads towards the door, grinning a little when Charles gives an exasperated sigh but doesn’t protest.

There’s a large pot by the door, and they’re only a few feet away when it abruptly shatters on its own, and a Bokoblin jumps out with a wild cry, club raised.  Erik shoves Charles back and meets the monster head-on with his sword, dodging the initial swing of its club and thrusting forward to cut at its belly.  The Bokoblin shrieks, stumbling back, and Erik follows through with a neat upwards slice, ripping the monster open from stomach to chin.

The black smoke has only just cleared when the bars over the door slide up, disappearing from view.

“That’s one way to go about it,” Charles says with a shrug when Erik raises an eyebrow at him.

Erik will take what he can get, though, and heads on into the next part of these twisted mines.  He steps into the next room and comes to an abrupt halt, hardly able to believe his eyes.

“Oh no,” Charles says nervously.

It’s another magma flow, this one coming straight down a tall slope, a sluggish waterfall of molten rock.  The magma disappears back into the ground at the bottom, continuing on its way, running gravity’s course, but Erik already knows that he’ll have to be going up—and he’s going to have to use the rocks jutting up out of the flow as stepping stones.

“This is madness.” Charles says, closing his eyes.  “We can’t go back, there’s no other way?”

Erik shakes his head, because he knows that Charles knows just as well as he does that they have to do this: Erik has to climb his way up.  At the top of the flow he can just barely make out a door in an alcove—his target destination.

If he can survive the climb.

He gives Charles a reassuring look and then walks over to the edge, standing just in front of where the magma disappears back into the rock.  It’s incredibly hot, the rock literally on fire, but Erik takes a deep breath as he looks up at the nearest rock ledge that pokes up out of the magma, and then jumps.

His fingertips grip the edge of the rock, and he’s careful not to swing; he’d run into the magma and that’s the last thing he wants.  He pulls himself up, struggling for a moment, but then he’s able to hoist himself all the way, balancing precariously on the edge of the rock.  The magma flows around it, leaking a little ways forward, but he’s safe enough.

Charles is watching him, eyes impossibly wide.

Erik shoots him another encouraging look, and then looks for the next closest rock sticking up out of the magma.

And so he climbs.  It takes a long time, because Erik makes sure his movements are slow and careful, and above all he doesn’t want to get any closer to the magma than he absolutely has to.  His arms are soon shaking with exertion as he pulls himself up each time, always ready to let go at a moment’s notice if the rock he’s grabbed onto is somehow weakened by the magma flow and starts to fall.  Fortunately they all seem to be holding steady, even with his extra weight.

One of the last jumps he has to make is almost just out of his reach, and Charles makes a small frightened sound when Erik misses the first time, dropping back down onto the rock he’d jumped from and swaying wildly for a minute, nearly stumbling backwards.  Erik’s panting, shaking a little with adrenaline, and forces himself to wait a moment before he tries again, very pointedly not looking down.

On his second try he manages to jump high enough to get a good enough grip on the next ledge, and pulls himself up, and from there on it’s only a few more jumps until he’s at the top.

When he finally heaves himself up onto the ledge in front of the door he doesn’t even hesitate, climbing shakily up to his feet and pushing his way through, stumbling forward and out, he’s surprised to find, onto the side of the volcano.

He coughs as fresh air hits his lungs, and the sudden harsh wind is like a slap to the face, albeit a welcome one—he’s fairly certain that he’d gotten something akin to a sunburn, after having been so close to the magma for so long.  His knees suddenly go weak and he half-collapses, crawling forward a few feet before dropping down onto his side and rolling onto his back, drawing in huge, gasping breaths as he looks up at the dark sky illuminated by the glow of the volcano.

Charles drops down beside him, pressing his cold body all along Erik’s side, covering Erik’s feverish forehead with one hand.  “Just lie still for a few moments,” he says, sounding so relieved but worried all at once, “and rest, just rest.”

Erik doesn’t move for a few long minutes, slowly getting his breath back as he lets his body cool down.  Charles shifts over to his other side, carefully crawling over him, and this time when he presses against Erik he puts both of his hands on Erik’s cheeks, soothing.  Erik lets him do what he wants, too tired to protest, and besides that it seems to make Charles feel better, that he’s helping.

Gradually Erik doesn’t quite feel like he’s about to burst into flames anymore, the strength in his limbs returning.  He gently untangles himself from Charles and sits up, shivering a little in the wind.  Charles sits up as well, so Erik lets their shoulders knock together in gratitude, letting Charles lean sideways against him slightly.

They’re sitting on a wide cliff on the side of the mountain, high enough as to where Erik can’t even see the ground below through the darkness covering the area.  There’s nowhere further to go but up, as he can make out a stone staircase carved right on the side of the volcano that curves upward out of sight.

“Erik, I—” Charles hesitates.  “Never mind.  It’s nothing.”

Erik looks over at him patiently, but Charles merely shakes his head and climbs to his feet, offering a hand to Erik.

Erik accepts, and lets Charles pull him up.  Charles doesn’t look troubled, exactly, but Erik can tell something is nagging at the smaller boy.

“Onward?” Charles asks him with a faint smile, so Erik nods—whatever is bothering Charles, he’s sure that he’ll find out eventually.

Erik walks over to the stairs.  They’re narrow, and while they hug the mountain on one side, there’s nothing but open, empty air on the other.  He steps out onto the first step, and then jumps backwards immediately when the entire step crumbles and falls, disappearing into the gloom below.

Erik looks up at the long staircase that leads up and out of sight, and then exchanges a glance with Charles.

“You’re going to have to run,” Charles says, “ _fast_.”

Erik steps over the small gap onto the second stair, which starts to crumble immediately, and then takes off at a sprint.  He runs up the stairs as fast as he can, leg muscles screaming, just barely ahead of the collapsing steps that fall behind him.  The stairs wind around the side of the mountain, and Erik suddenly has a very awful thought—what if there’s nothing at the top for him to stand on?

Fortunately there’s another wide rock ledge at the top of the stairs, and Erik runs out onto it just as the last step crumbles.  The rock remains steady, showing no signs of falling, and Erik looks back at the now-empty space he’d come from.

“I guess we won’t be getting down that way,” Charles says, “I hope there’s an alternative way down or otherwise I’m afraid we’ll be up here for a long time, my friend.”

Erik turns away from the ledge.  They’re nearly at the very top of the volcano, and he can see the edge of the crater.  There’s a tall arch carved into the side of the volcano, leading into what looks like a small courtyard, of all things.  He can see another arch on the other side of the courtyard, leading out again, but there are thin bars blocking the way.  Wanting to investigate closer, Erik steps through the arch on his side, walking into the courtyard, but as soon as he does, the same thin bars drop down behind him, trapping him inside.

Almost immediately, he hears an angry-sounding screech, and he looks up in time to see a large, vulture-like bird with multi-colored feathers swoop by overhead, carrying something large and bulky-looking with its talons.  It drops its burden in the center of the courtyard and then wings away, but by that point Erik has realized that the thing it was carrying is another monster.

It looks like a massive pig, standing as tall as Erik on its hind hooves.  Its huge, thick torso is heavily muscled and instead of two more legs it has arms, ending in human hands that hold a long, lethal spear.  The blade tied on the end, Erik notes, is as long as his own forearm.  It has thick jowls and a large pig snout, and then two beady little eyes that hone in on Erik immediately, floppy ears twitching as it gives one long sniff.

“Moblin,” Charles says behind him, “a bigger cousin to the Bokoblin.  Watch out for his—”

The Moblin swings his spear with a grunt, and its reach is so long that Erik has to leap over the shaft in order to avoid being knocked to the ground.  He draws his sword and darts forward, slashing at the monster before it can swing again, his blade slicing down its chest.

It howls and punches him, the movement so unexpected that its fist connects solidly with Erik’s jaw with a loud crunch, flooring him.  Erik tastes blood as he rolls to avoid the Moblin’s jabbing spear, scrambling to his feet and trying to clear his spinning head, barely staggering out of the way when the heavy-set monster lunges at him.

Erik thrusts his sword into the Moblin’s back when it careens past him, attacking with a shout.  The Moblin roars, rounding on him, but Erik goes straight for its face, jumping up and swinging his sword down across the monster’s face and it dies with one long, drawn-out cry.

Erik puts a hand on the wall to steady himself, panting.  His jaw is sore, but nothing feels broken as he brings up a hand to massage it, his reeling head slowly evening out.  The Bokoblin’s bigger cousin certainly put up a bigger fight, but it’d still been no match for him.

He’s about to put his sword away when two more screeches echo through the sky, and this time two of the vultures swoop by overhead, dropping two more Moblins in the courtyard.

Erik straightens, giving his sword a lazy twirl.

The closer of the two Moblins charges at him, spear flashing through the air, and Erik knocks it aside with his sword as he steps forward, following through with a slash that lands on the Moblin’s shoulder, cutting through its thick skin.  He’s prepared this time for the retaliating punch, and when it swings at him Erik ducks, jabbing low at its belly and is rewarded by a loud howl.

“Behind you!” Charles shouts, and Erik whirls.

The second Moblin has joined the fray, and its spear tip catches him in the shoulder as he turns.  It’s a glancing blow, barely, and Erik is saved from bleeding by his thin layer of chainmail, but his arm still goes numb for a moment, dead and limp at his side as he gives a loud cry, slamming his sword against the spear’s wooden shaft to knock it clear out of the Moblin’s hands.

The Moblin races after its spear but Erik doesn’t spare it a second glance, keeping his momentum going by spinning around, sword extended, and slicing into the first Moblin and then thrusting forward, knocking the monster off-balance entirely and hacking at it until it dies.

The second Moblin has reached its spear, picking it up and turning back to face him.  Erik runs at it, leaping forward with a swing of his sword, but the Moblin blocks him with its spear, countering his every attack so that none of his blows land.  Frustrated, Erik circles back, and the Moblin’s thick jaws fall open slightly, as if it’s grinning at him.

Erik bends his knees slightly, holding his sword at the ready in front of him, and waits for the Moblin to make a move.  Its beady eyes watch him, glinting, and then it suddenly swipes at him with its spear, aiming for his stomach, and that’s when Erik moves—jumping up into the air and slamming his sword down on top of the spear and pushing off, catapulting himself up and over the Moblin in a dizzying flip, and bringing his sword down across the monster’s spine in one last, fatal blow.

He lands on his feet as the Moblin dies, twirling his sword expertly and then slipping it back over his shoulder into its sheath.

Charles runs over to him.  “You’re amazing,” he says, a little awed, and Erik can’t help the smug grin that flits across his face, “but how’s your shoulder?”

Erik gives it a good rotate, shrugging.  It’s sore, but the feeling in his arm has come back.  He’s lucky that it had only been a glancing blow.

Charles bites his lower lip.  “We need to find you a new shield soon.  It’s too dangerous to go without.”

There’s a bright flash of light and a wooden chest appears in the center of the courtyard, and a moment later the thin bars in both of the arches slide back up, no longer trapping Erik inside.  He trots over to the chest and kicks it open, leaning down to see what he’s won.

“You’ve got the Hero’s Bow!” Charles exclaims when Erik holds it up.  “And a quiver with 30 arrows.  This is marvelous, Erik!”

Erik pulls back experimentally on the taut string.  The wood of the bow curves obligingly as he draws the string back, flexible enough.  He tucks both the bow and the quiver of arrows away for now but no doubt he’ll need them soon.

He jogs through the arch on the far side of the courtyard, emerging out onto another rock ledge.  At first he’s not sure where he’s supposed to go from here, because while he can see another ledge it’s much too far away to jump to—and then he sees the tiny, narrow edge leading over to it.

Halfway across is a jet of flames, spewing out into empty air.

“I don’t see a button to press,” Charles says uncertainly, “so how are you supposed to…?”

Erik cranes his head back, looking up at the side of the mountain.  High above him, he can see a small, diamond-shaped crystal.  He takes out his bow and nocks an arrow, taking careful aim.  He’s not sure if hitting the crystal will help at all, but it won’t hurt to at least try.

He releases the arrow with a loud _twang_ , letting it fly, and watches as it knocks into the crystal.  The crystal turns yellow, and down on their level the jet of flames closes up but a timer begins to tick.

Charles makes a small, worried sound as Erik quickly stows his bow and jogs over to the ledge, pressing himself back against the wall of the mountain and beginning to inch his way across.  He just has to get past the point where the flames shoot out of the wall, and then he can take all the time in the world.  The wind is harsh on this side of the mountain, whipping against his tunic and nearly threatening to blow him off the ledge.

Erik keeps his eyes firmly on his footing, not daring to look  down past the tiny ledge at the long drop below.  The timer is speeding up, the ticking growing louder and more agitated as time runs out, and behind him, against his back, he can feel the warm hum of the fire being contained and waiting to break loose again.  He reaches the spot where a metal grate over the jet of fire has closed, blocking the flames, and it’s hot against his back as he inches by, gritting his teeth and resisting the urge to flinch away—even leaning a tiny bit forward will send him pitching off the side of the volcano.

He’s just barely cleared the grate when the timer runs out and the jet opens again and the fire bursts out, a searing heat against his side.  He keeps going, because at least he wasn’t charred to a crisp, and finally steps off the tiny ledge onto the much wider cliff of rock.

“I hate this place,” Charles says fervently, folding his arms tightly against himself.

Erik grins at him teasingly, because he very distinctly recalls how excited Charles had been, at first, to see the Goron Mines.

“Yes, well,” Charles says, looking away, flushing, “that was before you’d nearly died a hundred times.”

Erik ruffles his hair good-naturedly, because he’s certainly not dead yet, before walking past him to take a look at the door.  It’s locked shut, chains thick and heavy crisscrossing the wood.

“Look over there.”  Charles points.

The end of the cliff extends out into open space, growing narrower and narrower until it finally comes to a tiny point, on which a large nest has been built.  One of the vulture-like monsters sits in it with its back to him, tail feathers ruffled in the wind.  It turns its head, and Erik catches a glimpse of a small key clasped within its beak.

“You can’t shoot it from here,” Charles says urgently when Erik takes his bow out, “what if it drops the key off the cliff?  Then we’ll _really_ be stuck.”

Erik sighs, but he sees Charles’ point.  He nocks an arrow anyway, though, and then carefully makes his way out towards the nest, creeping up slowly behind the bird.  He’s not really sure about how he’s supposed to go about this without getting himself knocked off the cliff, let alone the key, but maybe if he can—

The bird either hears him or catches sight of him out of the corner of its eye because it suddenly flares its wings out wide, dropping the key down into its nest and taking flight with a shriek, circling around to attack.  That’s all the invitation Erik needs, and he pulls back the string and fires his arrow, hitting the bird dead on as it swoops towards him.  It shrieks and falls, bursting into a cloud of black smoke on the way down.

He puts his bow away and climbs into the nest, picking up the key from amongst the sticks and holding it up for Charles to see.

“You got the dungeon key!” Charles remarks.  “Good work.  We’re really lucky it dropped it in the nest and not off the cliff.”

Erik climbs back out of the nest—even in the wind, it smells—and jogs back over to more solid ground.  Sure enough, the key fits easily into the lock on the door and the chains fall away, so Erik heads back inside the volcano, bracing himself for the blast of heat he knows will hit.

It’s hot, but he was expecting it so it takes less time for him to adjust as the door rolls shut behind him again.  He’s in a narrow passageway that slopes downwards towards an orange glow, so he jogs down the tunnel carefully, not wanting to walk straight into any kind of fire.

The passage emerges out into a wide, circular room.  There are four thick ropes hanging down from the ceiling, each attached to a corner of a thick, flat piece of rock that hangs suspended in midair.  Every few seconds, the rock shakes and sways as a great geyser of magma erupts from far below, large enough to reach this high, and then falls still again when the geyser dies down.  Directly across from Erik, there is another door.

“Odd,” Charles says, looking at the ropes holding up the rock, “I wonder what that’s about.  Why not just build a bridge?”

Erik waits for the geyser to die down again before making his way across the rock towards the other door, not wanting to be on it while it sways.  He’s halfway across when another small flock of Fire Keese drop down from the ceiling, screeching, and he’s forced to stop and fight back, slashing at them.

The geyser roars upwards, making the rock sway and then tilt unsteadily when Erik loses his balance, stumbling as it shakes.  One of the Fire Keese makes a dive for his head and he only barely gets his sword up in time, too preoccupied with staying away from the edges—the ropes can only keep the rock from tilting so far, and he doesn’t want to test them now.

He kills the last Fire Keese as the geyser simmers down again, but he stays with his feet planted wide for a few moments, gripping his sword with both hands.  When the rock stops moving he straightens and then runs the rest of the way over to the second door.

“ _Now_ do you agree with me?” Charles asks as they step into the next room.  “This place is awful.”

Erik is nothing if not determined so he merely shrugs, stepping further into the room.  There is a pool of magma here, bubbling, but more interesting is the huge chest sitting in the center of the room, surrounded by a ring of fire.  It reminds him of the chest back in the forest temple—this chest has a large, gleaming jewel inlaid in its lid just like it.

There are three buttons on the ground in front of the chest.  Erik picks the middle one first, stomping on it to press it down, but nothing happens.  As soon as he steps off of it, the button pops back up.  He tries the left and right button each as well, but both times the buttons only stay down as long as he’s standing on top of them, and nothing happens regardless.

“Maybe you have to press all three of them down at once?” Charles wonders.  “Unfortunately, I can’t help you.”  To demonstrate he goes to stand on top of the button in the middle and jumps once—it doesn’t even budge, unaffected by a projection, and Charles gives a chagrinned smile.

Erik looks around the room.  There are no loose rocks or pots to use as potential weights, and for a moment he’s stumped.  He can’t leave here without getting inside that chest, though, because if it contains what he thinks it does, he’ll definitely need it eventually.

He’s almost about to turn back towards the chest and flames to give it another look when the surface of the magma shifts, and a Magtail crawls up onto the rock.

Erik draws his sword, waiting for the monster to creep closer.  If only it wouldn’t immediately burst into a cloud of black smoke upon dying, or otherwise he’d be able to use its carcass as a weight for one of the buttons—and there’s certainly no way for him to get it to stay still long enough while still alive.  He’ll just have to get rid of it and then take another look at that fire.

Its single, wide eye looks sort of like a target.

Erik sheathes his sword and takes out his bow.  He waits for the Magtail to crawl even closer and rear up on its hind legs, pincers opening and closing, and then shoots it in the eye.

The Magtail shrieks and drops back down, but instead of dying it curls up into a large, tight ball.  Erik lowers his bow and cautiously approaches, giving its armored back and experimental kick.  The Magtail remains tightly curled and doesn’t budge—perfect.

He bends and picks it up, hoisting it over his head and carrying it back over to the three buttons.  He drops it down on the left button, satisfied when it’s heavy enough to press the button down—one down, two to go.

Erik looks back over at the pool of magma hopefully.  If another Magtail appears, he would be set.

Luck seems to be smiling on him, or maybe the volcano is just trying to make up for itself—“I still won’t forgive it,” Charles mutters, making Erik chuckle—because after a minute another Magtail creeps up out of the magma, crawling towards Erik.  Erik wastes no time in shooting it in the eye, scooping it up once it’s curled in a ball and dropping it down on the right button.

He stomps on the button in the middle, and when it clicks down into place the flames that circle the chest sputter and die.

Erik walks up to the chest and opens it, reaching down inside.  Sure enough, the chest contains a large brass key.  Like the one in the forest temple, this key is thick and solid in his hand, and has a gem similar to the one on the chest set into its handle.  He can feel the eerie malevolence it seems to exude, but this time he holds steady, lifting it up for Charles to see.

“You’ve got the Boss Key,” Charles remarks, “that will unlock the door to the room where the temple boss lurks.  Well done, Erik.”

Erik tucks the key away.  Whatever sort of monster that lies in wait for them doesn’t even know what’s about to hit it.  He’s half-expecting some sort of fire-breathing dragon at this rate, though, which is going to be severely unpleasant if that’s the case.

It’s Charles’ turn to chuckle, as he tries and fails to hide a smile.

There’s no way to go except back through the door they’d come through, so Erik backtracks, walking out into the room with the slab of rock hanging from the ceiling.  For a moment he deliberates, eyeing the ropes speculatively while the magma geyser makes the rock sway, and then walks out carefully onto the slab, stopping when he’s in the very center.

“This is a bad idea,” Charles says flatly, all signs of mirth gone now, back to looking worried.

Erik draws his sword, widening his stance and holding it straight out and flat in front of him, parallel to the ground.  He needs to sever all four ropes at once, or otherwise he’s going to end up in the magma far below.  He waits until the geyser shoots back up again, frothing at the bottom of the slab, and then he spins, sword flashing in a wide arc, and cutting through each of the four ropes holding the rock up in succession.

He has half a moment to admire his work, and then the geyser dies off and he and the rock are sent plummeting straight down.

Erik lets out a wild yell as he falls, arms thrown out wide as he plummets.  It’s a long fall—longer than he’d been expecting—and when the rock slab hits the magma it sends up a huge wave of the molten rock.  Erik’s knees buckle when he lands and he falls forward into an awkward half-crouch as he uses his hands to catch himself.

“Are you okay?” Charles asks, still worried.  “Come on, you have to move, and get off this rock before it gets pushed back up again by the geyser.”

Erik pushes himself back up to his feet, allowing Charles to get an arm under his to help, and together they stagger off of the rock, hopping over onto a small ledge that’s fortunately nearby.  They’re just in time—a moment later, the geyser shoots up again, lifting the rock slab high into the air.

Gingerly, Erik untangles himself from Charles, giving him a nod of thanks.  There’s another tunnel here, cutting downwards through the rock, so Erik jogs through the passageway, careful not to trip as he descends at an increasingly steep angle.  At the end of the tunnel is a door.

Walking through, Erik emerges into a quiet and dimly-lit room.  He’s standing up on a wooden platform above the main room, but he spies a ladder that leads down.  There are several tables and chairs scattered about, and a few shelves built along the walls here and there, some holding pots.  There are a few other pots on the ground along the edges of the room, and Erik can make out what looks like a couch—if a couch could be made out of rocks.

“It’s like a sort of break room,” Charles says, looking around curiously, “I suppose even the Gorons need some downtime.”

Erik climbs down the ladder.  There’s another door on the far wall, but even from here he can see the lock and chains barring the way.  The key must be somewhere in this room, but he doesn’t see a chest anywhere, not even in the darker corners.

“Listen to you,” Charles says as Erik stretches, his joints giving a few pops that are loud in the quiet of the room, “you’re turning into an old man.”

Erik gives him a light shove, rolling his eyes, because at least he doesn’t worry like one.

“That’s unfair,” Charles protests even as he grins, stumbling a foot before he regains his balance, “it’s perfectly reasonable for me to—”

The pot they’re walking past shatters with a crash, and a Bokoblin leaps out straight for Charles.  Erik doesn’t even think, he just reacts, grabbing Charles by the arm and yanking him back out of the way, a little more roughly than he intended but the Bokoblin’s club only misses him by a hair.

The monster draws its club back to swing again, but Erik is faster.  He draws his sword and slashes forward, knocking the Bokoblin off its feet—compared to a Moblin, these smaller monsters now feel like nothing.  While it’s still floundering on the ground, Erik leaps up, sword tip pointed down, and buries his sword in the monster’s stomach with both hands as he lands.

The Bokoblin shrieks and dies, bursting into a cloud of black smoke, but not before a small key falls out onto the ground from its pocket.

Erik scoops up the key as he straightens, holding it out for Charles to see.

“You’ve got the dungeon key,” Charles remarks, only a little shakily.  “And thank you, Erik,” he adds sheepishly, “I just sort of froze up when that Bokoblin pounced at me.”

Erik waves at hand at him dismissively, because Charles of all people certainly doesn’t need to thank him.  He’s glad, however, that his own reaction had been the opposite—for a split second, when he’d seen the Bokoblin leaping straight for Charles, he’d felt very real fear.

Swallowing that down and burying the thought before Charles can notice, Erik moves over to the door and fits the key into the lock, clearing their way.

They step back into the enormous, central volcanic cavity of the mountain, where Erik lost his shield.  They’re higher up than they were last time, standing a few platforms above where they’d originally come in—they’re nearly level with the rope that holds up the giant, wooden platform.

The monsters sitting in alcoves along the walls catch sight of them at once, and begin to shoot at them, flaming arrows whistling through the air.  Erik sidesteps one that comes particularly close, but brings out his own bow and quiver—this time he can shoot back.

He has to aim quickly, letting his arrow fly so he can dodge another one coming for him.  His arrow hits its mark, the monster giving a loud shriek as it falls off its ledge, plunging down towards the magma below.

He has to stop watching when Charles shouts his name and an arrow whizzes past his ear.

Erik counts quickly—nine more to go.  He makes sure to keep moving this time, pacing along the edge of the platform he’s standing on and making it harder for them to keep their aim.  They still shoot at him, though, their flaming arrows clattering loudly off the rock wall behind him when they miss, but at least they don’t seem intelligent enough to organize their attacks—they all just seem to be mindlessly trying to kill him.

He comes to a stop for a brief moment, firing off two quick arrows in succession before moving again.  Both hit their marks, and now he’s only being shot at by seven monsters.

Erik slowly whittles their numbers down, and it becomes much easier to stop and take aim once there’s only four, three, two, one of his enemies left.  He shoots at the last one, watching his arrow arc through the air, and doesn’t realize that the monster has fired one last arrow at him in return until Charles barrels into him, knocking him over just as the fiery arrow shoots past right where he’d been standing.

Across the chasm Erik’s arrow hits the monster and it falls, but Erik only has eyes for Charles.

The smaller boy has landed on top of him and together they’re both sprawled out on the platform, limbs tangled together, and really the only reason Charles had been able to knock him over in the first place was probably because he’d taken Erik completely by surprise.

Charles lifts himself halfway up so that he’s on his hands and knees, and then meets Erik’s gaze and flushes.  “I.  Um.  You weren’t looking, and the arrow was coming, so I, um—”

Erik only half-hears what Charles is saying, and is instead somehow morbidly fascinated by how very close they are now, with Charles hovering over him, and how easy it would be to flip their positions so that—

“—er, what?”

Erik blinks.  Charles’ face is practically scarlet now, and he seems to be frozen in place, eye wide.  Erik realizes that Charles probably heard all of that—now he’s flushing too, and he has nowhere to hide.

“I’ll just, um—” Charles scrambles off of him, scooting backwards on the platform so that Erik can sit up, neither of them quite able to look at each other as they rise, Erik brushing himself off and Charles pretending to.

To further save face, Erik looks back out across the chasm.  He lifts his bow up and draws another arrow—his quiver is considerably lighter now that he’s used over half of his arrows—and aims at the thick rope holding up the large, wooden platform.  One arrow is all it takes to sever the rope entirely and the platform falls forward with a loud thud, extending out horizontally across the chasm now and revealing a large, wide alcove in the wall.

Erik steps a little further out onto the edge, looking down.  They’re not that high up.

“No,” Charles says quickly, whipping his head up to look back over at Erik again, “don’t you dare—”

Erik jumps, launching himself off the platform and plunging down towards the other one with a shout.  He ducks his head and turns his landing into a roll, using his momentum to roll fluidly right back up to his feet, triumphant.

“What was that?”  Charles demands, joining him.  “You could’ve broken something, like your _neck_ —”

Erik puts both his hands on Charles’ shoulders, effectively silencing the shorter boy.  Charles looks up at him, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, but Erik gives him a tiny, gentle grin—he’s not hurt, it was the fastest way down, and it isn’t something that Charles should work himself up over.  He sees the moment when Charles subsides, his shoulders dropping.

“I just—”  He breaks off, as if searching for the right words.  “I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he admits finally, “I haven’t liked it from the start, but there’s been more of it than usual in this place.”

Erik reaches up with one hand, emboldened, to stroke Charles’ cheek in reassurance.

“I know,” Charles says, although now Erik can tell that he’s struggling not to smile despite himself, “we have to do this, and I’m the one who asked you to, after all, but I don’t have to like it.  That’s all.”

Erik nods, because he understands.  He just doesn’t want Charles to worry so much that he’s perpetually anxious—he likes it better when Charles is happy and laughing, despite everything else.  It certainly suits him far better.

Charles finally gives in and smiles, small but true.  “Thank you, my friend.”

Erik lets him go gently, glad that they’re back on the same page, and turns to face the alcove that had been behind the platform.  It’s tall but not very deep—only a few feet back is a giant door, with a lock that looks like a giant eye staring out at them.

He exchanges a look with Charles, and then together they walk forward, stepping off of the platform and onto the rock ledge.  There’s one large pot sitting in the corner, so Erik smashes it, finding a whole bundle of arrows inside; grateful for the find, Erik restocks his quiver until it’s bristling with arrows.  Then he digs out the Boss Key and slots it into the giant lock, and of course it fits perfectly; the thick, heavy chains fall away with a loud rattle.

“How are you with the heat?” Charles asks.  “Feeling alright?”

Erik pauses.  He’s hot and it’s uncomfortable, but he’s nowhere close to being as overheated as he was before.  Any longer in this volcano and he’ll start feeling the effects again, perhaps, but if he can defeat the monster just beyond this door, he and Charles can leave this place behind for good.

“Courage,” Charles says softly as they both look up at the giant door.

Courage.  Erik has plenty of that.  He steels himself and walks forward as the door opens wide with a low rumble, and together he and Charles advance into the darkness, side-by-side.


	7. I am lucky to have you

The cavern is wide and circular, with a narrow ledge of rock running around its circumference.  The rest of the space is taken up—unsurprisingly—by one huge pool of magma, with various outcroppings of rock jutting up at even spacing, almost too perfectly.  Erik feels a small, probably unintentionally projected wave of uneasiness from Charles as the door rumbles shut behind them.

He gives Charles a meaningful look.

Charles hesitates, but then nods and flickers out of sight.  _I know you don’t need to be told, but be careful, please_ , he says quietly a moment later, curling up in the back of Erik’s head.

Erik hops out onto the nearest outcropping of rock, scanning the room.  It’s too quiet here, with only the soft sound of the shifting magma echoing lightly off the cavern walls.

A loud _poof_ breaks the relative silence, and suddenly Erik is no longer alone.

He recognizes the red-skinned man instantly—he’d been on the road with the white lady.  He’d been a menacing figure in the background, the sort of fire to the lady’s ice.  The man has appeared a few rocks away from Erik, standing on the one in the center of the magma pool, arms folded across his chest as his tail waves idly back and forth, sharpened point glistening.  His eyes are light blue, stark against his red skin, and they seem to gleam as he sizes Erik up.

Erik tenses, his hand twitching slightly, itching to reach back for his sword.  He is suddenly aware of how open and defenseless he is without his sword in hand.  He should have drawn it the moment he stepped through the door.

The man’s gaze flickers down to Erik’s hand briefly and he grins, white teeth bright.  “Hello, comrade.”  His voice carries easily across the magma, thick with accent.  “Emma said that you’d have long sleep.  It appears that she was wrong.”

 _Emma_ , Charles says in Erik’s head, surprised, _the White Witch?  She’s from another old legend, like Janos._   He pauses, and Erik can practically feel the thoughts clicking in the other boy’s mind as they share his head.  _That means that this man is—_

“I am Azazel,” the man continues, Charles echoing the name silently half a moment later, “the Red Devil.”

He shifts his stance slightly and Erik doesn’t hesitate, drawing his sword with a loud scrape and holding it at the ready.

Azazel grins again.  “You are feisty one.  But it will not do to have you running around.  I am afraid your adventure ends here.”  He uncrosses his arms and reaches over his own shoulders to draw his twin blades, bringing them up over his head and then down in front of himself.  The blades are ornately curved, thick in the middle with jagged edges.

Erik feels Charles press close.

“Tell me, comrade,” Azazel says, grinning at him from behind his crossed blades.  “What hope is there for you, against such darkness?  What ends do you try to achieve?”  He disappears with a poof, and then is abruptly standing on the same rock as Erik, so suddenly that Erik is too surprised to react.  The Red Devil leans in close, so that their faces are inches apart.  “How are you to fight the darkness out there when you cannot fight the darkness in here?”  He pokes Erik in the chest.

The touch breaks whatever kind of frozen spell Erik has temporarily fallen under and he comes alive with a cry, slashing at Azazel wildly but the red man merely disappears with a chuckle, leaving Erik’s blade to swing harmlessly through empty air.  He reappears on a rock on the other side of the magma pool, grinning.

Erik leaps off of his rock onto the next, bounding across the magma as fast as he dares, leaping from rock to rock towards his enemy.  Azazel stands still, watching him approach, and then when Erik is only a single leap away he disappears with a loud _poof_.

Erik comes to a shaky halt, boots skidding a little on the surface of the rock, and then whirls around, scanning the cavern quickly.  Azazel reappears on the other side of the magma pool, tail waving, so Erik takes off again, jumping back across the magma.

Azazel waits for Erik to draw close and disappears at the last possible second again, giving a taunting wave as he does.  Erik nearly pitches forward into the magma in his haste to stop and turn, arms windmilling almost comically for a second as he struggles to regain his balance.

 _Erik, stop!_   Charles cries when Erik turns around again, looking for Azazel.  _You’re never going to catch him at this rate, this isn’t going to work._

Erik stops, panting.  Azazel has appeared back on the other side of the magma pool again, and when he catches Erik’s eye he holds out a long-fingered hand, crooking a finger provokingly.  He’s sheathed both of his swords mockingly, clearly showing Erik that he doesn’t think he even needs them to win.

Charles is right.  At this rate, he’s going to exhaust himself leaping back and forth across the magma, and then it will be all too easy for Azazel to move in for the kill.  This fight is already a far cry from his battle against Janos—at least then, Janos’ movements had been predictable.  Azazel’s teleportation ability is throwing Erik for a loop.

 _Erik!_ Charles protests when Erik takes off again, running towards the red-skinned man with new intent.  _He’s just going to—_

Erik comes to a short stop halfway there, slamming his sword back into its sheath and then pulling out his bow, knocking an arrow and swinging it up all in one motion, letting the arrow fly straight towards Azazel.

His aim is true, and the arrow buries itself into the demon’s chest, causing him to tip his head back with a bloodcurdling howl, but Erik doesn’t hesitate, already following his arrow over, bounding across the rocks and switching weapons mid-jump, drawing his sword and bringing it down, down, down in a flashing arc—

Azazel snarls as Erik cuts into him, teeth bared.  Erik strikes again with a shout, and gets in two more slashes before Azazel recovers enough to disappear, putting distance between them once again.

He doesn’t look nearly as smug when he reappears again, and this time it’s Erik’s turn to grin, though it comes out more like a feral grimace as he slides his sword back into its sheath and takes out his bow.

 _The element of surprise is gone_ , Charles acknowledges quietly, sounding slightly shaken, _Erik, I don’t know what it means, what he said to you, but your mind is in chaos.  You need to focus, my friend.  Calm your mind._

Erik ignores him, knocking another arrow and jumping a couple rocks forward.  He’s proven that Azazel isn’t untouchable, that he bleeds, and he’s running on a rage-fueled adrenaline high, which should be more than enough to defeat the Red Devil.  Azazel watches him warily, now, his gaze trained on the bow in Erik’s hands.

 _Your anger won’t be enough_ , Charles says urgently, hurt and worried, _Erik,_ listen _to me, he’ll turn it against you—_

Erik swings his bow up and fires, but Azazel is anticipating the motion and teleports, leaving the arrow to whistle past through empty air harmlessly, bouncing off the rock wall and landing in the magma, burning up instantly.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Erik turns around.  Azazel reappears directly across from him again, and it gives Erik an idea.

He shoots another arrow and just like before, Azazel easily gets out of the way, disappearing with a loud _poof_.  This time, however, Erik whirls around and shoots a second arrow just as the demon reappears on the rock directly opposite of the one he’d been standing on a second before, and Azazel doesn’t stand a chance—the arrow slams into him directly, nearly knocking him completely off the rock.

Erik runs forward while he howls in pain, switching his bow out for his sword and attacking.  His broad slashes cleave through his enemy using all of his strength, focused on cutting Azazel down.  Azazel hisses, his tail lashing out to drive Erik back, giving himself the space to teleport away again.

Erik switches weapons again automatically—he’s wearing Azazel down, he can feel it.

Azazel teleports more quickly now, never lingering in one spot for too long.  Erik jumps out to the center of the magma pool, rotating on the spot as he tries to track his enemy’s movements, bow held at the ready.  His first two arrows that he shoots both miss, the first by a long shot and the second by barely a hair, so he narrows his eyes and waits for another opportune moment, carefully judging the timing and location of Azazel’s teleporting.

His third arrow catches Azazel in the side, but it’s good enough—he howls, tail thrashing, and Erik descends upon him at once, taking advantage of his pained distraction and thrusting his blade forward, aiming to run the demon through.

His sword is brought to a screeching, jarring halt with Azazel suddenly throws up his twin blades, blocking Erik’s assault.  The Red Devil is glaring, sides heaving as he pants, red skin slick with red blood.  “Very well, comrade,” he rasps out in a guttural growl, “time for this to end.”

Charles gives a silent, wordless cry when Azazel suddenly _pushes_ , nearly shoving Erik backwards off the rock.  Erik’s forced to turn his fall into a backwards jump, landing clumsily on the next rock, wobbling on the edge for a moment.  He barely brings his blade up in time for when Azazel follows him, leaping after him with both of his swords raised, no longer relying on his teleportation—the long distance battle has shifted to close quarters.

He swings at Erik’s head with one of his blades, thrusting low with the other, and Erik ducks, dropping his own blade low in a guard position to stop the second.  He’s not prepared for Azazel’s brute strength, and nearly pays for it when the demon shoves him back again, their swords sliding together with a harsh screech of metal.  Azazel turns the failed swing of his first blade into a jabbing follow-through, and Erik is forced to leap backwards and retreat one rock back again to avoid losing his head.

Azazel smirks.

 _You’re going to run out of rocks at this rate_ , Charles says tightly, _and then he’s either going to stab you or push you into the magma.  Erik,_ please _, just slow down and_ think.

“I wonder, what did you see when you dreamed?” Azazel asks, readying his dual blades.  “Did you see your true image?  Did you see the darkness within?”  His eyes are glinting.  “Did you drown, little hero?  Even you are not immune to humanity.  Even you must have personal blackness waiting to drag you down.  We are the same, you and I, you just hold on to notion that you can fight the inevitable—”

Erik lunges forward, leaping back across the narrow gap with a shout, everything narrowed down to making Azazel stop, because even as the demon speaks it’s as if Erik can feel the unbearable truth resonating behind the words, and he can almost feel that evil, black thing he knows resides within him stirring, lifting its head, and will then want to come out.

Azazel laughs, slamming his two blades together and trapping Erik’s sword in between them like a vise, so Erik reaches forward to grip the hilt of his sword with both hands, twisting his wrists until they ache, flipping their blades around and in the process ripping Azazel’s top blade clear out of his hand, sending it flying through the air to land in the magma with a loud hiss before it sinks down out of sight.  Azazel’s grin fades, and their swords drag together once more as he rotates his arm in a wide circle, gripping the hilt of his remaining sword with both hands now too, slamming it down against Erik’s.

They strain against each other, blades locked together, and Erik can feel himself slipping, boots sliding slowly but surely as Azazel bears down on him.  Erik lets out a frustrated growl, pushing back with all his might, but Azazel is taller, his shoulders broader, his strength greater—

The demon leans in close, his hot breath puffing across Erik’s face.  “You are no hero.  You’re just little boy playing in costume.  You’re going to fall, and darkness will eat you alive.”

Erik digs his heels in and throws all of his weight into shoving back, and for a moment he feels Azazel falter, and thinks that maybe he’s turned the tables, that his strength will be enough—

Azazel’s tail whips forward and Erik can only gape wordlessly, all sound caught in his throat as the tail cuts effortlessly through his tunic and chainmail, running him through.

His whole body goes numb.

Distantly, he is aware of Charles shouting something in his mind, but he feels very cold and very still, frozen in place as Azazel twists his tail deeper into his stomach, blood blooming steadily across his front as it begins to drain out of his body.  His heartbeat is suddenly very loud in his ears, even as it grows slower and slower.

“See?” Azazel asks, and Erik chokes when he yanks his tail back out, blood splattering down onto the rock.  His collapses down to his knees, sword clattering as it falls out of his hands, and Azazel looks down at him, shaking his head.  “No hero.”

“You’re not wrong.”  Charles appears, stepping forward out of thin air, dagger already drawn, and he steps right up to Azazel before any of them can blink, and thrusts it forward into the demon’s stomach.

Azazel chokes, tail whipping around wildly, but Charles is glowing with golden light, so bright that Erik has to squint, looking up at Charles’ silhouette in dazed awe.  Azazel is writhing, now, head thrown back and spine arched, tiny streams of light bursting out of him inch by inch, illuminating the whole cavern as he screams—

“Erik isn’t just a hero,” Charles says, his voice crystal clear over the sound, “he is much, much more.”

Azazel bursts into light with a howl, and the Red Devil is vanquished.

Charles drops his dagger and whirls around, falling to his knees just in time to catch Erik as he collapses completely.  “Erik,” he says, the name coming out as a sob, stricken as he gently positions Erik onto his back, kneeling beside him, “no, Erik, no, _please_ no.”

Erik’s breaths are weak and stuttering, darkness slowly beginning to creep into the corners of his vision, threatening to take over entirely.  He tries to lift a hand, fingers bloody from where he’d been clutching uselessly to his torn stomach, intending to touch Charles’ face, but he’s too weak and his arm flops back down.

Charles grabs his hand and lifts it up to his cold cheek for him, holding it there as he looks down at Erik, eyes bright with unshed tears.  “You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, understanding at once, because he is Charles and he has _always_ understood Erik, right from the beginning, “he was goading you, and you were angry.  But Erik,” he says, voice threatening to crack, “you have _so much_ light in you.  I know this to be true, I’ve felt it, I’ve _seen_ it.  Whatever the White Witch did to you doesn’t mean a thing, because you’re still _you_ , no matter what, and I—”  His voice does crack then, and his eyes leak tears as he inhales on another sob.

Erik can only look up at him, vision growing dimmer and heart slowing down, and all he feels now is bone-deep sorrow, because he’s caused Charles this much pain, has failed him—

“You are the Chosen Hero, Erik,” Charles says, reminiscent of their first meeting, “and Hyrule needs you.  _I_ need you.”  And then he leans down, pressing their lips together.

There’s a soft, gentle hum, and something small and bright bursts out of Erik’s pouch, flying in tight, dizzying circles around them both, glowing brighter and brighter.  Erik’s vision starts to clear, strength flowing back into him.  He feels the wound in his stomach close up, flesh knitting together, and Erik catches a quick glimpse of the bright orb right before it disappears and realizes that it’s the fairy he captured in his glass jar, way back in the Forest Temple, and it has healed him completely.

He reaches up to slide a hand through Charles’ silky hair, wrapping his fingers gently around the back of Charles’ head, pulling him down closer, and kisses him back.

Charles makes a small sound that’s close to a whimper, bending down more under Erik’s direction and his eyes flutter shut.  His mouth is soft and pliant and he yields at once, bracing his hands on the ground on either side of Erik’s head, twisting so that their angle is better.  Erik keeps his hand on the back of Charles’ head, gently holding him in place while he coaxes Charles’ lips apart, and it’s like how he imagines kissing a cloud would be—Charles’ mouth is cool where he is unable to project body heat, and tastes primarily of nothing, but it’s still _Charles_ so it doesn’t even matter.

Charles kisses him back fervently, allowing Erik’s tongue in past his cold lips and sucking gently, melting against the heat Erik knows he must radiate in comparison, as his body is solid and real.  He can feel their minds brush together, melding easily, and in that contact—far more intimate than even their mouths working slowly against one another—Erik feels Charles’ deep and searing relief on several different levels, and underneath that, swelling like the tide, is _happiness_ , bright and pure.

“I feel yours too,” Charles whispers against Erik’s lips, and then kisses him again and again and again.

Erik could forget about all the rest of the realm, his entire universe narrowed down to Charles alone as they mold both their minds and lips together, languid and unrushed, as if they have all the time in the world.  Presently Charles gently pulls back, opening his eyes and sitting up slowly, maintaining eye contact with Erik all the while.

“Hi,” he says, and Erik smiles.

Erik sits up, tentatively at first, but the fairy’s magic is total and complete—even his clothes are fixed, no longer torn and bloody, all wounds down to the last scrape on his skin completely gone.

“I’d forgotten you had the fairy,” Charles says, watching Erik check himself over.  “I’m—I’m so, so glad that you did.”

Erik reaches over and takes Charles’ hand, lacing their fingers together idly, the movement easy and practiced, and takes pleasure in Charles’ delighted smile.  His sword is lying on the rock nearby, and even that too has been cleared of blood—no evidence of the battle remains.  He reaches for it, grasping the hilt and sliding it back over his shoulder into its sheath, and then looks back at Charles.

Charles, who had been the one to defeat Azazel and break the spell of darkness over the region.

“Oh, I—stop,” Charles says, flushing slightly and busying himself with reaching for his own dropped dagger in a meager attempt to hide it, “I—he was distracted, he thought he’d already won.  We’re a team, Erik.  Although I’d much prefer it if we didn’t use that method ever again.”

Erik grins slightly, pushing himself to his feet and pulling Charles up along with him.  Like in the Forest Temple, the light that has escaped from Azazel has condensed down to a single point, leaving another solid piece of golden puzzle hovering in midair.  When Erik reaches for it, it slowly descends, landing in his palm.

“You’ve got another piece,” Charles says softly, watching as Erik digs out the first piece and slots them together.  “Only one more until…well.  I don’t think those would appear for just anyone, Erik.”

Just as Erik is slipping the gold back into his pouch for safekeeping, the door to the cavern rumbles open and several large, hulking Gorons enter the room.  They stand taller than Erik, their craggy, yellow skin rock hard and impervious to the heat as they make their way out towards where Erik stands.

Erik stiffens warily, but Charles gives his hand and squeeze, murmuring, “It’s alright.  They’re glad to see you.”

Erik stands his ground as the Gorons approach, and they come to a stop in front of him, stepping aside to reveal a much shorter Goron, old and  wizened, who stands relatively closer to Erik’s height.  This Goron steps up to him, mouth splitting like a fault into a smile.

“Hello, brother,” he says, voice deep, “I am Gor Coron.  Are you the one who defeated the Red Man?”

Erik nods.

Gor Coron’s smile grows wider.  “Then you are the Hero that all the people dream of!  When the Red Man came, he brought the darkness and we all fell asleep.  It’s thanks to you that we are awake again.”  He surveys Erik thoughtfully for a few moments, and Erik gets the very distinct feeling that he is being measured against something that he cannot see.  Then Gor Coron turns his head, addressing his fellows.  “Bring it!”

“Bring it!” They echo, and one of them steps forward, and in his hands is a shield.

The shield is broad, made of metal with a polished surface that gleams brightly as Gor Coron takes it.  The Hyrulian winged crest has been painted in red across the surface, while above it, in bright gold, are three triangles stacked to create one large triangle.

“Our gift to you, brother,” Gor Coron says as he holds it out to Erik, and then adds, “every Hero needs his shield.”

Erik takes it carefully, and holds it up—it’s light, only a little heavier than his wooden one had been, and he can already tell how durable and well-crafted it is.

“You’ve got the Hylian Shield!” Charles remarks proudly, for his ears alone.  “This will protect you from all kinds of attacks.  I feel better with you having a shield again.”

Erik dons the shield, and it falls easily into place over his sword, adjusting his shoulders to the extra weight.  The Gorons are all smiling, looking pleased, and Gor Coron claps his hands together once with a deep laugh, the sound like rock splitting.

“Come, Hero,” he says, “we will escort you back out of the mountain.”

Erik has to hide his grin when Charles lets out a great sigh of relief.  The Gorons beckon for him to follow, so Erik goes, but not before reaching over to take Charles’ hand again first.

 

X

 

The Gorons leave him at the entrance to the canyon leading up to Death Mountain, Kakariko Village in sight.  Now that the darkness over the region has gone, the day is bright and sunny.  Erik supposes that normally the canyon would seem hot, but after spending so much time in an active volcano he’s not sure that he’ll ever feel true heat again.

“The villagers must be awake,” Charles says when they can hear voices echoing down the canyon, coming from the direction of the buildings.  He pauses, before adding, “The children probably are too.”

Erik swallows.  The children.  He’s saved them.  They’re going to be okay.

Charles is smiling gently.  They’re still holding hands—they never let go once all the way back down the mountain—so he gives Erik’s hand a small tug.  “Come on.”

They walk back into the village together, Erik’s boots kicking up small clouds of dust.  The village doesn’t seem to be inhabited by very many people, but he catches glimpses of some standing in their doorways, yawning and blinking out at the sunny day.  He heads straight down the center of the canyon, towards the first house they’d originally come across.

The door bangs open, and Alex and Sean spill out into the daylight, their loud cries of surprise rebounding up and down the canyon.  Angel steps out next, calmer but wary, and finally Erik sees Hank, peeking out the door with wide, unsure eyes.

“Erik!” Alex sees him first, and then Erik doesn’t stand a chance.

All four of the children break into a run, and Erik hears Charles laugh a split second before he’s tackled, both Alex and Sean barreling into him, nearly knocking him over.  Angel arrives next, adding to the pile, and even Hank jumps in, all four of them wrapping their arms around him tightly, all clamoring for attention at once.

“Erik, what are you doing here—”

“—had the weirdest dream, it was crazy—”

“—are you _wearing_ —”

“—monsters brought us here, it was really scary—”

“—dude what are our parents going to think, we’re like a million miles away from home—”

“—and you should meet her, she’s really nice—”

Erik looks up, finding Charles’ gaze for help, but Charles has retreated a few paces and watches them with a grin, shaking his head at Erik, highly amused.

“You should let your friend take a breath, children,” says a new voice, calm and musical, “it wouldn’t do to suffocate him.”

A woman has stepped out of the home, wearing a small smile as she walks over to them slowly.  Erik recognizes her vaguely from when he’d looked in the window—she’d been asleep like the children, and it must be her house.  She carries herself regally, every movement precise and elegant, and when she comes to a stop a few feet away Erik realizes that she cannot see—her eyes are open, but her pupils are milky white.

Abashed, the children let go, allowing Erik to straighten even as they stick close, hovering around him.  The woman can’t possibly know, but her smile grows anyway.

“Welcome to Kakariko Village, Erik,” she says, her voice impossibly kind, “the children have told me a lot about you.  I am Irene, and I am the shaman of the village.”

“Ms. Irene took us in when the monsters brought us here,” Alex pipes up, always eager to get a word in, “and she let us stay in her house.”

“But then the darkness came here, too,” Hank adds quietly, “and we all fell asleep.”

“I think we have Erik to thank for clearing the darkness away,” Irene says, her smile knowing.  “Well done, Hero.”

“What, you didn’t sleep?” Sean asks incredulously, and that provokes an entire new round of insisting questions from all of them.

Erik can’t help the small, fond grin that threatens to sneak across his face as he listens to them, relieved to see them all unharmed.  Angel starts telling him about how they came to be in Kakariko Village, but Alex interrupts with his own version, which dissolves into an argument with Sean about one detail as Angel shouts at them to be quiet.  Even Hank is smiling as he tries to get Sean and Alex to calm down again, and it’s this normalcy, this proof that despite his world being turned upside down with monsters and magic and dangerous quests, that the children are able to remain the same and it strikes Erik—it’s all worth it, in the end, if only to preserve that.

He looks for Charles again, and then stops in surprise when his gaze finds him—talking to Irene.

Charles must feel his gaze because he looks back over at Erik suddenly, giving him a reassuring smile, and Erik relaxes, unaware that he’d tensed up in the first place.

“Whoa, look at that pond!” Alex says suddenly, looking over towards the wide, flat pond where Magneta wades, tail swishing slowly.

“Why don’t you all go for a swim,” Irene suggests calmly, and then she turns her head towards Erik.  “Erik and I must talk.”

 

X

 

“You’ve come a long way,” Irene says, “but you have a great deal further to go.”

They sit together at a table by the window, which is propped open to let the voices of the children drift in on the warm, dry breeze, along with laughter and splashes as they play in the pond.  Irene’s apprentice, a small, dark-skinned girl named Ororo, has shown them how to climb up the rocks along the back wall of the canyon to jump into the water, so they’re bound to be preoccupied for hours if left alone.

Charles has disappeared, gone from sight, but Erik can feel him curled in the back of his mind like a cat, resting—it takes a lot of concentration for him to keep up his projected image, and the past few hours in Death Mountain have been trying.  He’s been quiet, but Erik can feel him listening to the conversation at hand.

Irene sits at ease in her chair across from him, calm despite the gravity of her words.  “There are still two provinces left in Hyrule that are covered by darkness.  The region around Castle Town, as well as the Far North, are both still deeply shrouded.”

Erik wonders how she knows.  She’s a shaman, though.  Perhaps she has other ways of seeing.

She hasn’t said anything about Charles, though Erik knows that somehow, she’d known he was there and they’d spoken.  Charles has kept quiet on the matter as well, but Erik trusts that Charles will tell him eventually.

“If you are to burn away the darkness from the realm completely, however,” Irene continues softly, “you must pass one final test.”

Erik sits up a little straighter, unsure of what she means.  He’s cleared two regions of darkness so far.  Surely the last two can be cleared just the same, and then Hyrule will be safe.

“You are not yet ready to face the monster that lurks in the darkness of Castle Town,” Irene says, “your sword as it is, I’m afraid, will be unable to land a single blow.  Do not despair,” she adds gently, as if sensing how Erik is now reeling in doubt, “for if you truly are the Hero, there is a way.”

Erik feels Charles stir in the back of his mind—he’s listening intently now.

“Go first to the Far North and rid the land there of shadows,” Irene says. “I think you can guess the nightmare that waits for you there.”

Erik resists to urge to shudder.  The White Witch Emma will no doubt be expecting him, especially now that they’ve killed Azazel.

And she’ll want to see how much the darkness inside him has consumed him.

 _Erik?_ Charles asks, not quite pursuing the thought but catching some of Erik’s uneasiness.

“Once the darkness has been vanquished in the north, you will have the final piece of your puzzle,” Irene says, giving a small smile at the way Erik starts, “and with that complete, you must go west.”

Erik raises his eyebrows.  To the west is the Gerudo Desert, which as far as anyone knows is nothing but miles upon miles of empty sands, stretching out and away from Hyrule for forever.  The few people who have ever dared to wander into the sea of sand rarely return.

“At the end of the sands lies the place where you will be tried, Erik,” Irene continues, “and if you pass, then there will be nothing that can stand in your way—not even the shadow that lurks within Castle Town.”

Erik stays still, allowing silence to settle.  He’s still not entirely convinced that he’s the hero that everyone keeps talking about; as far as he’s concerned, he’s just doing what needs to be done.  But he can’t deny that he’s run into more magic than he ever thought could possibly exist since setting out from Ordon, and he recalls the old legend that Charles told him about—the parallelisms are hard to ignore.

He feels Charles shift again, as if on the verge of saying something, but he remains silent, the buzz of his thoughts too low for Erik to overhear.

A peal of laughter from outside brings him back out of thought, and he looks up out the window to watch as Alex, Sean, and Angel all jump off one of the taller rocks into the pond, creating a huge splash.  Hank hangs back in the shallows, petting Magneta and watching the others.

“The children will be safe here,” Irene says, “you’ve made sure of that yourself.  I can arrange for a safe passage back to Ordon Village for them as well.”  She pauses, and then adds, gentle again, “You’ve done right by them.  You saved them.  But now you must answer your true calling.”

Erik doesn’t know what his true calling is, or what that means.  But he does know that he’s promised to help Charles.

 _We’ll go to the north_ , Charles says quietly at Erik’s silent question, _we’ll follow her advice_.

Erik pushes back his chair from the table and stands.

Irene smiles softly.  “If you are the last hope of the realm, then our future is bright indeed.  Go well, Erik.  May the goddesses guide your path.”

He takes his leave, stepping back outside.  Alex, Angel, and Sean are clambering back up the rocks by the pond for another jump, lost in their game, but Hank sees him and leads Magneta over.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” the shy boy asks, blinking up at Erik.  “I can tell.  But you’re not going back home, are you?  You’re going further away.”

Erik pats Magneta’s neck and doesn’t bother denying it.  Put like that, it makes him realize just how far from Ordon he’ll be going.  At least he won’t be alone.

Hank shuffles his feet awkwardly.  “Be careful, okay?  I don’t know where you’re going, or what you’re doing.  But come home.”

Erik swings himself up into Magneta’s saddle, pulling gently on her reins to turn her around, facing north.  He looks back down at Hank, and then offers the younger boy his hand.

“Okay,” Hank says, reaching up to shake it once, “okay.  Goodbye, Erik.”

Erik gives him a nod, and then urges Magneta into a trot, making his way swiftly through the village.  They haven’t gone far when he feels Charles rematerialize, settling in behind him as a cold press against his back.  He automatically lifts his arms slightly for a moment so Charles can wrap his arms around his middle, fitting them together.

 _I’ll tell you what she said to me soon_ , Charles says, directly into Erik’s mind rather than aloud, _just not now._   He sounds hesitant, as if afraid that Erik will be upset.

Erik leans back against him for a brief moment as they pass the side-canyon that leads up to Death Mountain, galloping through the now-unlocked tall, wooden gate and leaving Kakariko Village behind.  It should be frightening, how much—blind—trust he has in Charles, but it doesn’t bother him.  Charles has proven himself time and time again that he is someone Erik could willingly follow anywhere—even to the ends of the earth across the desert, if that’s where Charles will lead.

“Thank you,” Charles says in Erik’s ear over the sound of the wind, but he sounds quiet and subdued, though his grip on Erik only tightens.

Erik leans forward slightly again so his weight is more evenly distributed for Magneta and they ride on.  He doesn’t know the map of Hyrule very well, but they have a long journey ahead of them if they’re going to the Far North.

They follow the canyon for some time, running into no one as Magneta maintains her tireless gallop.  Eventually it tickers off as they reach the other side of the mountains, opening up to a wide, flat grassy plain.  It’s not as large as Hyrule Field, but Erik is still struck by how much wide, open space is here—Hyrule is a vast realm.  There’s an old, faded dirt path for them to follow so Erik keeps Magneta on it, still headed north.

And then they come to an abyss.  It is jagged and gaping, appearing bottomless and as if it has been cleaved into the ground by the goddesses themselves, an angry reminder of a huge battle from long ago.  Their path leads up to a long, flat white bridge that lies above the chasm, marked on either side by tall monuments.  Erik slows Magneta to a walk as they approach, and she steps out onto the cobblestone carefully.

At the other end of the bridge, the giant green monster with the glowing red eyes sits atop its massive boar mount, blocking the way.

Charles stiffens behind him.  “Cain,” he says, worry leaking into his voice, “I should have known.”

Erik brings Magneta to a halt, staring across the bridge at the nightmare.  Charles had said before that Cain had once been human, before he had been twisted by an evil power.  Regardless, Cain is the one who had led the attack against Ordon Village and also the one who had taken the children.

“Erik,” Charles says quietly behind him, his arms around Erik’s middle slipping away until only his hands are resting lightly on Erik’s hips, “there’s something I should tell you.”

He’s given no time to explain as Cain tips back his head and lets out a bellow, the long cry echoing down through the abyss and coming back louder, and then kicks his boar into a gallop, thundering towards Erik across the bridge.  Magneta shifts nervously as the cobblestone trembles beneath her hooves.

“Yah!” Erik urges her into a gallop and they charge forward to meet the nightmare.

Charles’ presence behind him disappears unbidden, but Erik focuses only on his enemy.  Cain’s only armor is a helm, with long, pointed horns jutting up into the sky, but he carries a long spear that extends his reach far longer than Erik would like—the bridge is wide enough for them to ride right past each other, he estimates, but with that spear Cain will be able to knock him out of the saddle easily.

If he’s knocked out of the saddle, this fight will be over very quickly.

Keeping one hand on Magneta’s reins, Erik draws his sword, edging her over so that Cain will have to pass on his sword hand’s side.  They’re nearly on each other now, racing at breakneck speed towards one another, the open, empty edge of the bridge flashing past and Erik can see the slobber gathering on the boar’s fangs.  He should be terrified but all he feels is total and complete calm as they draw even.

Cain swings his spear at Erik’s head and Erik ducks, yanking on Magneta’s reins so they swerve in closer, and brings his sword down and locks his elbow, letting the horse’s momentum do the rest of the damage as he slices through Cain as he shoots past, Magneta’s hooves clattering on the cobblestone as Cain gives another howl.

Erik’s shoulder hurts from the force of the blow, and Magneta almost reaches the other end of the bridge before he manages to slow her, and turn her around again.  On the opposite end of the bridge, Cain is struggling to turn his boar, bleeding freely from the wound Erik has given him.

Erik spurs Magneta into a gallop again and Cain kicks his boar, charging back across the bridge.  He nudges Magneta over onto the opposite side of the bridge to keep Cain on his good side, and then squeezes the saddle tightly between his legs as he lets go of the reins, confident that Magneta will keep steady, and takes up his shield.

When they clash again Cain thrusts his spear at Erik instead of swinging it, and Erik lets out a wild cry as he throws up his shield to bat it away, the impact jarring all the way up his arm and nearly sending him careening sideways off of Magneta but he clenches his legs and forces himself to stay seated, gritting his teeth at the effort.  He lashes out with his sword but misses, the blade flashing through empty air harmlessly, and then it’s too late for him to try again, Magneta and the boar already rocketing past each other and putting Cain and Erik out of range.

Both Erik and Magneta are panting as they wheel around at the end of the bridge again, facing the abyss once more.  Cain’s hit on his shield had been a bludgeoning blow, and Erik’s not sure how many more of those he’ll be able to withstand without being knocked off the side of the bridge.  He’s cut the monster once, and while it’s bleeding freely, it doesn’t seem to be slowing him at all.

 _You didn’t see because you were busy trying to keep your own balance, but when you hit his spear with your shield, you almost knocked him over too_ , Charles says, and Erik gets the impression of him swallowing.  _If you hit him hard enough, he’d probably go flying._

Erik stretches his arm that carries his shield, feeling his muscles burn.  On the opposite end of the bridge, Cain has already driven his boar into a gallop again, and it snarls as they draw close.  Magneta’s ears are laid back flat against her skull, but at Erik’s direction she breaks forward into a gallop as well, running straight for their enemy.

Cain opens his mouth wide and lets out a roar as they draw close and Magneta nearly starts but Erik holds her steady, urging her on, and they’re almost there, and Cain’s boar tosses its head with a scream as Cain strikes—

Erik blocks with his sword this time, knocking the spear’s shaft aside and veering Magneta in so close that his leg smashes into the boar’s side, and then he slams his shield into Cain, giving one mighty shove, and then falls back as Cain lurches off of his saddle with a cry, tumbling down into the abyss.

Shakily, Erik rights himself in his own saddle as Magneta comes to a halt on the center of the bridge, the now-rider-less boar behind them still charging, galloping straight off the bridge and disappearing out across the plains.  Magneta rears back on her hind legs, letting out a loud whinny, and Erik grasps on, lifting up his sword in triumph, holding it up high—he’s won.

Charles reappears as Magneta drops back down to all fours, standing off to the side and looking up at Erik with visible relief.  “Well done, Erik.”

Erik slides his sword back into its sheath and swings his shield over his shoulder, and then holds out a hand to Charles—they may as well keep going, while there’s still plenty of light left in the day.

Charles stays where he is, though, and makes no move to take Erik’s hand.  “Irene told me that I should tell you the truth,” he says, taking a deep breath to keep his voice even, “which is something I should have done a long time ago, Erik.  I’m really sorry.”

Erik looks down at him in confusion—the truth about what?

“I told you that I’m from Castle Town,” Charles continues, “but that’s only partially true.  My full name is Charles Xavier.”

Erik blinks in surprise.  Xavier?  But the Xavier family is—

“The royal family,” Charles finishes quietly, “yes.  I am the only son of the king, the heir to the throne, the Crown Prince of Hyrule.”

Erik’s initial reaction is shock, but then he recalls the many nights of dreams he had before all of this began—dreams of Charles in that formal, circular room at the top of a tower where everything was neatly in its place and exuded a quiet but powerful sense of wealth, especially compared to Erik’s own humble cottage in his tree.  Thinking back on it, it’s not a far stretch to imagine the room not at the top of a tower as he’d subconsciously assumed, but at the top of a _castle_.

It makes sense.  Especially with Charles being as he is—kind, smart, beautiful Charles, who is everything a prince should be, with his endless ideas and infectious personality.

Charles is flushing now, no doubt having overheard Erik’s thoughts.  “I—you—you’re not angry.”

Erik shakes his head, slightly confused again.  There’s no reason for him to be angry.  He’s more wondering if there’s some sort of protocol he’s supposed to have been following when addressing a prince.

Oh.  They’d kissed, too.

Charles’ cheeks are flaming now, and he’s practically sputtering.  “No, no, you’ve been fine—wonderful, actually, there’s no, um, _protocol_ , or anything, so really, there’s no need to make a big deal of—”  He cuts off when he realizes Erik is trying not to laugh at him, and makes a face.  “I’m trying to tell you something very serious, Erik.”

Charles is short even when they’re standing side-by-side, so now that he’s sitting up on Magneta Erik feels that he towers over the other boy, and yet right now in this moment, Erik feels small compared to Charles—the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice is enough to make Erik’s smile fade, impressing upon him the gravity of the situation.

“My family are the leaders of the realm,” Charles continues but his voice, so powerful before, now drops down low, “and we’re supposed to be its protectors as well.  We harbor wisdom, after all.  But that said, we are also the ones directly responsible for the state that it’s in now.”

He looks so torn and pained and _lost_ that Erik slides down from the saddle, going over to him and taking both of Charles’ cold hands in his own, looking intently into his aggrieved blue eyes.

“My father the king had an advisor named Kurt,” Charles says, voice trembling, “Cain was his son.  Our age, actually.  But Kurt was a greedy man, and wanted the throne for himself.  Several weeks ago he murdered my father and mother—” here his voice cracks and Erik squeezes his hands tightly, “—and took the throne for himself.”

Cold uncertainty washes down Erik’s spine.  The king and queen of the realm had been murdered weeks ago, and yet no one has noticed?

“Kurt didn’t manage the takeover alone,” Charles whispers, “he did it with the help of a very old, evil power that he summoned straight from legend—Shaw.”

Erik knows the tale.  Shaw is the old, evil power in _all_ of the legends—the one that the goddesses worked so hard to seal away.  This Kurt must have discovered a way to break the seals, unleashing Shaw into the realm once again.

“Shaw brought the darkness into the castle,” Charles continues, his voice barely above a whisper now, “and put everyone under the spell of sleep.  As soon as my parents were dead, Kurt thought he’d won.  But Shaw turned on him and killed him as well, and turned Cain into the monster you just defeated.”  He closes his eyes.  “I don’t have any kind of right to ask this of you.  But earlier you were thinking about how you would follow me anywhere, and even though I don’t deserve that loyalty from you, I’m asking—no,” he says, eyes opening again, and then to Erik’s astonishment he kneels down on one knee, looking up at Erik with wide blue eyes, “I am humbly begging you.  Please help me put things right again, and banish Shaw back to where he came from.  Please.”

Erik still holds Charles’ hands in his own and it’s making him slightly uncomfortable to have Charles knelt at his feet, so he pulls Charles gently back up again, ignoring the shorter boy’s mixed look of apprehension and confusion.  There was never a question about his loyalty to Charles.  There hadn’t been then, and there still wasn’t one now.

He needs Charles to understand this, so he tugs him forward, stepping right up into his space, and kisses him, licking his way into Charles’ mouth and letting go of his hands so he can run his fingers up and down Charles’ sides slowly, gently coaxing.  Charles hesitates for only a moment before he responds, his own hands coming up to slide into Erik’s hair beneath the hat, pulling their bodies flush against one another with a small, desperate sound that makes Erik grip him tightly.

Charles thinks that he is to blame for the darkness that has spread across the realm, but Erik knows that he is wrong—it is nobody’s fault but Kurt’s, and the man has already paid the ultimate price for his greed.  Erik would no more abandon Charles than he would the people of the realm who have fallen under the evil spell, so just as it was with his trust in Charles, there’s no question as to whether or not he’ll help—and there never will be.

He kisses Charles like he means it, because he _does_ mean it—without this bright, impossible boy he never would have made it this far, would be trapped under the spell like the rest of the realm, never given a fighting chance.  He has Charles and Charles alone to thank for that, and that counts far more than anything else as far as Erik is concerned.

Charles had told him that he needed Erik, but he forgets that Erik might possibly need him too.

When Charles pulls away, though only far enough for a breath of space between them, his eyes are bright and watery.  “I understand.  Thank you, Erik.  I—”  He stops.  Brings a hand down to trace Erik’s face lightly.  “I am lucky to have you.”

Erik leans into the touch, giving a slight smile.  Charles mirrors him and for a few moments they stay as they are, standing on the edge of the bridge over the abyss, with only eyes for each other.  Erik had never been lonely, exactly, back in Ordon Village, but now that he has finally found someone who fits with him so well—found _Charles_ —he can’t imagine ever willingly giving this up.

“Come on,” Charles says, his voice a little breathless, “we still have a long way to go.”

They mount back up, Charles in place behind Erik once again, and Magneta starts off briskly, eager to get off the bridge.  As soon as they’ve cleared the tall monument that marks the end, Erik allows Magneta to speed up to a gallop, kicking up dust from the road as she takes off, leaving the bridge far behind.

The land is hillier on this side, many rocks and boulders dotting the landscape.  They stick to the road, unhindered, and it is late afternoon when Erik guides Magneta through a cut between two hills, emerging out into another open field.  Charles, who has been quiet again throughout the duration of the ride—although this time the silence had been notably less tense than before—stirs, coming out of thought.

“Castle Town,” he says simply, pointing.

The town sprawls across the landscape, protected by a moat and high stone walls.  Erik can see the roofs of a few buildings and above it all looms the castle, turrets tall and imposing even from this distance.  He imagines that the city should be audible even from this distance, alive and bustling with life, but he only hears silence—there is no visible darkness, but the townspeople still sleep.

“I’m there,” Charles says distantly, looking up at the castle, “or my body is, sleeping.  Isn’t that strange?”

Erik taps Magneta’s sides with his boots and she starts off at a trot, hooves clopping on the now-paved road as they approach the town.  The moat’s bridge is down, the city’s gates on the other side wide open, but Erik stops Magneta well before they step onto the bridge.  Irene had warned him that he wasn’t ready to face the darkness within Castle Town, and now that he knows exactly what—or _who_ —is behind it, he’s not willing to test her advice.

“We _will_ come back, though,” Charles says fiercely in a low voice, “we _will_ save them.”

Erik nods.

And then an invisible wall of ice hits him, freezing him in place.

“Erik?” Charles asks nervously, shifting behind him.  He’s the only one still moving—even Magneta has fallen eerily still.  “Erik?  I can’t feel you.”

Erik can’t move, his thoughts sluggish, and it’s hard to form them at all.  He can only sit, and watch as a regal, imposing figure emerges from the city gates, walking down the length of the bridge slowly but not without purpose, her white clothing almost too bright to look at.

“The White Witch is _here_?” Charles whispers in shock.

Emma comes to a stop in front of Magneta, and Erik realizes that it’s her, that she is the one who is somehow holding him frozen in place, stripping all his defenses away until he is nothing but a sitting target, unable to fight back at all.

“You killed Azazel,” she says, and where before Erik had been struck by her almost unearthly beauty, now he can only see her as she really is—a monster behind a fair mask.  “Are you still trying to fight the darkness within you?  Oh, sugar, it only grows more hungry the longer it waits.”  She smiles.

Cold fear sweeps through Erik, leaving him momentarily breathless.  He hasn’t forgotten his shadowy other half that he’d fought and barely beaten, the one that lurks inside him somewhere, waiting for a chance to break loose.

Emma glances back at the town behind her.  “Did you come all this way to save the fair prince?  Oh, I know you’re there, sweetheart,” she says when Charles starts, “very clever of you to hide in his mind—I didn’t even notice you the first time.  But I know you’re there.  I can feel you.”

Erik hears Charles draw in a shaky breath.  “It’s no good,” he says desperately, “I can’t touch her mind, it’s like sliding off glass.”

“It’s been fun, boys,” Emma says with another smile, showing her teeth, “but now it’s time for you both to go back to sleep.”

“No,” Charles says suddenly, even though she can’t see or hear him, “no, don’t _touch_ him—”

What feels like a frozen iron fist closes around his heart.  Erik chokes out a gasp as it begins to squeeze and his vision swirls, and he tries to fight it off, tries to find a way to struggle, to do something, _anything_ to stop this, and then he hears Charles give a pained scream and his heart _wrenches_ , unbearable pain suddenly lancing through him and he can’t even open his mouth to make a sound, unable to do a thing as he feels Charles being torn away from him.

And then everything goes black.


	8. I hardly had to wait at all

This time they fight on the deck of a ship.

Erik’s never been on a ship before but he doesn’t have much time to admire it as he ducks under his shadow doppelganger’s black blade, thrusting his shield forward to knock the shadow back, giving himself some space.  The deck of the ship rolls gently under his boots and Erik stumbles forward, unused to floating on so much water.

His double lunges at him again, bounding off the wood of the deck as if gravity hardly matters at all, swinging its sword down like an anvil.  Erik meets it halfway, swinging up, and when their blades clash the shadow twists in midair, pressing down against Erik’s sword and using him like a springboard to flip over Erik’s head entirely, landing behind him and giving him a solid kick in the back.

Erik hits the deck hard, cheek scraping against wood, but he rolls to his feet, bringing his sword back in front of himself and hefting his shield.  The shadow twirls its blade, assessing him, and then attacks again, raining down heavy blows that Erik struggles to block, stuck entirely on defense.

The shadow drops suddenly, swiping at Erik’s feet with a horizontal kick and Erik reacts in time, jumping over its legs, but then when he tries to bury his sword in the shadow’s stomach again it rolls out of the way, and Erik’s sword sinks down into soft wood.  He wrenches it back up in time as the shadow jumps to its feet, swinging it around for a solid parry, the metal in his hands ringing with the impact.  They struggle for a moment, blades locked together, before Erik reaches around with his shield, slamming it into the shadow’s side to separate them.

It hisses as they draw apart, giving its sword a few wide swings in rage as they circle one another, red eyes glittering.  Erik is panting, exhausted, his grip on his sword and shield knuckle-white.  His eyes dart up and down his opponent, searching for a weakness or any kind of opening.

They’re too well-matched, which makes sense as he is fighting himself.

He wonders distantly what would happen if he gave in, and succumbed to the darkness.  If he could control it, perhaps, he would hold a great deal of power, and maybe that’s the key to defeating the darkness in Hyrule—mastering it.  He considers the shadow with its hungry eyes and wonders if he’d ever be able to satisfy that bottomless hunger, that endless hatred that he can feel coming off of it in waves.

And then he recalls Charles with his bright, golden light, who seems to burn away the darkness even now—across the deck, the shadow flinches at the thought.

Charles had said that Erik too possesses light within him.  It’s hard to believe, especially looking at the shadowy doppelganger bent on destroying him, but Charles wouldn’t lie.  There must be light somewhere.  There _has_ to be, if he’s supposed to defeat Shaw.

Erik attacks first this time, running across the deck and slashing at the shadow, lifting his shield to block it’s retaliating slice.  The sword rebounds off his shield with a loud clang, and Erik spares half a second to wonder if it’s possible for his shield to dent before he’s forced to abandon the train of thought as the shadow hacks at him, driving him back a step.

They exchange a flurry of blows, but no matter how fast either of them strike, neither of them can get past the other’s defenses, blocked at every angle.  For every step Erik is able to drive the shadow back, he in turn is pressed back two more, and even in in this place removed from reality, Erik is beginning to tire and grow weary—the force behind his own sword strokes is weakening bit by bit.

The shadow surprises him when it leaps back and away suddenly, putting distance between them—it must be growing tired too.  They circle each other again, prowling like wolves, and Erik lets his gaze flick around the deck all while keeping his doppelganger in his periphery, looking for something, anything that he can use to gain leverage and win this fight.

The deck is empty, save for a few barrels off to the side as well as the thick post in the center that holds up the rigging and the mast, with a huge, proud sail unfurled and full with wind, marked only by three huge, golden triangles—the same symbol on his shield.  There’s nothing he can see that would be remotely useful against his enemy, but there _is_ a ladder leading up to the crow’s nest high above, towering over the deck.

Erik has a strange moment where he’s suddenly hit by a brilliant idea, yet beneath that his subconscious knows that it is in fact the opposite, and he’s torn for a moment between realities, wavering, but then he goes for it, darting sideways to grab one of the barrels.

As soon as his back is turned the shadow leaps after him, sword raised, and Erik grabs the barrel and whirls around, chucking it at his opponent.  It’s so unexpected that the barrel slams into his doppelganger head-on, splintering into pieces.  Erik doesn’t linger to watch the shadow crash to the deck, instead turning and sprinting towards the ladder, slinging his shield over his back and sheathing his sword as he runs, and when he reaches the base he begins to climb.

He practically flies up the rungs, muscles burning, and he never stops or looks down, knowing already that the shadow is in hot pursuit.  The wind is stronger up here, the rocking and swaying of the ship more pronounced and the sunlight bright in his eyes, but he pulls himself up at last into the crow’s nest, scrambling away from the edge and drawing his sword—he’ll have the advantage here.

There is a young girl with golden hair crouched in the back of the tiny space.

Erik stops in his tracks, still holding his sword out at the ready, but time seems to slow down as the girl opens her eyes and looks up at him, her young face solemn.  She rises to her feet, her soft pink gown whispering as she straightens, hands smoothing down the long, rectangular sash that hangs from her belt, stitched with the same red, winged crest and three golden triangles as Erik’s shield.

She seems very out of place here on this creaking, wooden ship, ethereally beautiful and stark for it against the backdrop of open sea and sky.

“You didn’t come for me,” she says, though she doesn’t sound angry or accusing; more curious than anything, with a small underlying tinge of sadness that causes something deep inside Erik to stir in answer, the barest hint of an echo of pained longing that makes him blink, dazed.  “I waited and waited for you, but you never came.”  Her eyes flicker over his shoulder, looking past him.  “That did.”

He turns.

The sea is rising up in the distance, a giant wall of water that grows taller and taller as it approaches, towering above the ship.  It seems to be picking up speed, gaining on them faster and faster, an unstoppable force that will destroy them all.

His shadow doppelganger reaches the top of the ladder, hoisting itself up into the crow’s nest and attacking with a swing of its sword.  Erik barely gets his shield up in time, throwing himself between the shadow and the girl without even thinking, instinctively knowing that she must be protected at all costs.  The shadow slams its blade against his shield with both hands, shoving forward so hard that Erik has to take a step back to regain his footing in order to push back, locked in another stalemate.  When he looks up over its shoulder, he can see the tidal wave bearing down, almost upon them.

Even as he strains to keep his opponent at bay, something makes him turn his head, looking back at the girl behind him.

She lifts an arm, extending her hand out towards him, palm up, and utterly calm.  “It’s too late,” she says, and the ship is beginning to tilt upwards now, as all the water beneath it is sucked towards the wave, “you were too late.”

The ship rides up the base of the wave, tilting further and further over, all in a split second, and then is unbalanced completely as it goes too far, the scream of wood snapping barely audible over the roar of the water, and Erik drops his sword and shield completely, forgetting about the shadow as he lunges for her, but the water’s overtaking them and his desperate snatch at her hand misses—

He plunges down into water, pieces of the ship crashing all around him and he’s lucky he hasn’t been impaled but he can’t tell up from down anymore and there’s no air and a hand grabs his ankle and he looks back to see the shadow, face twisted in a snarl as it starts to drag him down into the depths, but Erik’s looking for her, where is she, _where is Raven_ —

Erik runs out of air and drowns.

 

X

 

When he wakes, it hurts to breathe at first, the sensation of air in his lungs again foreign and jarring.  His first breath is jagged and harsh, and he sucks in too much air as his eyes snap open so he ends up coughing, his lungs trying to hack up water that isn’t actually there.

Erik gets his bearings slowly, the world coming back into focus.  He’s lying on his side, right in the middle of the road in front of the wooden moat bridge leading up to Castle Town.  Magneta is nowhere in sight, and the sun is beginning to go down, the sky overhead streaked with orange.

Charles is lying on his stomach a few feet away, and when he lifts his head, his eyes are dim.  “Erik,” he says weakly, his voice catching, “you’re awake.”  He closes his eyes, putting his head down again with something like a sigh.  “Thank the goddesses.”

Erik has picked himself up before he even realizes it, crawling over to Charles at once, kneeling beside him.  The smaller boy’s image isn’t as clear as it normally is, and as Erik watches in near-panic Charles seems to flicker, in and out of sight, in danger of disappearing entirely.

Gingerly, with as much care as he can muster, Erik lifts Charles up, turning him onto his back and cradling Charles’ torso up against his knees, holding onto him, looking down at him with a blank sort of fear—he doesn’t know what to do.

“She did something to me,” Charles says faintly, flickering again, “she tried to rip us apart, so I held on.  But she did something to me.  I can’t…I can’t feel my body anymore.  I don’t feel a connection to it.”  His eyelids flutter, lashes sweeping low.  “I’m so tired, Erik.  I just want to sleep.”

Panic is starting to creep in, but beneath that and growing stronger by the second is terror.  Erik knows instantly that if Charles loses consciousness he will fade entirely, lost forever, never to wake again.  He has to get Charles to his body—he looks up at the castle that stands over Castle Town, and comes to a decision.

“No,” Charles protests, his voice heavy as if he’s been drugged, “it’s…it’s too dangerous.  You know…that’s where…Shaw is.”

Grimly, Erik resituates the smaller boy, his movements gentle but also quick and efficient.  He manages to get Charles propped up into a sitting position, even though Charles droops, unable to hold himself up.  Erik takes his shield off his back and tucks it away, and then gets in front of Charles, coaxing him to wrap his arms around Erik’s neck.

“ _Erik_.” Charles says, even as he reluctantly obeys, limbs moving slowly.  He sounds scared, though whether he’s frightened of returning to the castle or of the possibility of fading out of existence, Erik can’t say.

He is very purposefully not allowing Charles’ fear to feed into his own, though it’s a close thing.

He gets his arms under the backs of Charles’ legs and lifts him up, standing and leaning forward so that he can adjust Charles on his back, making sure he won’t slip off.  Charles clings to him, but Erik knows that his grip is weak.  Fortunately his projection, while solid, hardly weighs anything at all, so Erik will be able to maintain the added weight easily.  Once he’s sure that he’s got a good grip on Charles and vice versa, he takes off across the moat as quickly as he dares, jogging into Castle Town.

He just needs to keep Charles lucid, and keep him awake.

“Another legend,” Charles murmurs as he overhears Erik’s order, his chin resting on Erik’s shoulder,  “you’re right.  I should…keep talking.  To stay awake.”

Erik sends him a wave of assurance as he passes through the gates of the city, the road turning to cobblestone as soon as he steps foot inside.  He’s standing on the edge of a large plaza with a fountain in the center.  Normally he imagines that the plaza would be bustling with merchants and shoppers and all odds and ends of people, but now it is silent and deserted, the water shut off in the fountain, and eerie because of it in the twilight of dusk.

“I remember one legend…about a dragon,” Charles says, and Erik can feel him fighting to keep his thoughts straight, struggling not to let them scatter like leaves in the wind, “his name was…Valoo.  He lived at the top of Death Mountain.”

Erik jogs through the plaza, skirting around the fountain.  The road branches off to either side of the plaza, leading off into the town in either direction, but Erik continues on straight, running up the main road towards the castle.  There are shop buildings and houses on either side of the empty street, all of their windows dark and lifeless.

“One day, Valoo got his tail stuck,” Charles says, his voice a mere whisper in Erik’s ear, “where it hung down…into the magma chamber below.  He was causing…quite a stir.  Roaring and spitting fire and…causing rockslides in his anger.”

There is a tall, stone wall at the end of the street, with two huge, heavy doors that are shut, empty guard outposts on either side.  Erik slows a little as he makes his way up the steps towards the wall, adjusting his grip on Charles absently as he feels the smaller boy starting to slip.  Beyond the wall, the castle rises up, proud and regal, a massive sentinel over the town.  There’s no sign of darkness other than the quickly approaching night, but Erik still hesitates when he reaches the huge gates.

Evil is on the other side.  This much he knows to be certain.  But the castle is huge, and Erik believes that if he’s careful, he can sneak his way up to where Charles’ body rests, undetected, and then do everything in his power to keep Charles from slipping into an eternal sleep.  He has no other choice.

Charles has fallen silent, forehead pressed against Erik’s shoulder blade, and Erik has a spike of terror that he’s lost him, but when he gives the smaller boy a jostle, Charles lifts his head again.  “Sorry.  Tired.”

Erik gives him a nudge as he shoulders his way through the tall doors.  They give a low creak but no alarm is sounded, so Erik slips in off the street and onto the castle grounds beyond the wall.

Light is leaking quickly from the sky with the oncoming night, but Erik can still make out the general gist of what he’s looking at.  It’s just like his dream—a wide, cobblestone path lined with tall hedges extends up towards the castle’s main entrance, banners and flags hanging limply in the stagnant air.  It is eerily quiet, but at least there are no nightmares to be seen—not yet.

“The townspeople…were terrified by Valoo’s…Valoo’s anger,” Charles says, continuing his story as Erik starts off up the path, sticking close to one side in case he needs to duck into the bushes for cover.  He speaks as if using his voice is costing him real effort.  “So they sent for…the Hero.”

There are more steps to climb at the front of the castle, so Erik runs up them, tightening his grip on Charles but letting the motion shake him—anything to keep him conscious.  He can’t see the intricate details of the vast carvings set into the stone arch of the castle’s entrance in the dim light, but neither does he stop to try, moving quickly across another wide sort of plaza towards the massive front doors.

It occurs to him that this is a trap, because these doors too yield easily, opening soundlessly to admit him into the castle, but there’s no chance he’ll turn back now.

The entrance hall is grand but unlit, deeply shadowed and has a silence that is heavy on Erik’s ears.  His boots echo loudly on the marble floor despite how slowly and cautiously he steps, straining his eyes as he peers through the gloom for any sign of danger.  There are wide windows lining the walls, letting in the last of the dying daylight, so at least none of the all-encompassing evil darkness is here.  It’s still a worrisome thought, however, because if it isn’t here, then _where_?

“And the Hero…climbed…I can’t,” Charles says suddenly, shaking with a sob, exhausted to the point of breaking, “I can’t do this, Erik, I’m sorry—” 

Erik can feel him trembling so he crosses the hall quickly, slipping into a small alcove behind a tall pillar.  He crouches down, letting Charles slide gently out of his grasp and then turns to face him, gently sitting him back against the wall.  Charles barely has any form left at all, so faint that Erik can see right through him like a ghost, his grip on his projection so tenuous that it seems as if a good breeze could make him dissipate like mist.

Erik kneels in front of him, pressing both of his hands to Charles’ cheeks and tilting his head back, forcing him to look up at him.  They’re in the castle now and they’re so _close_ , and all Charles needs to do is hang on for just a little while longer while Erik finds his way up to his room.

“I’m not as strong…as you think I am, my friend,” Charles whispers, “not like you.”

Erik shakes his head firmly.  He knows Charles can do this—he isn’t going to give him any other option.

Charles’ eyes flutter, and he seems to be doing everything he can to soak in Erik’s body heat.  “There’s a stairwell…for the servants…in the first corridor.”

Erik leans down and presses a small kiss to Charles’ barely-existent temple, and then shuffles them around some more so he can get Charles back on his back.  Charles is still shaking, small tremors that Erik can feel, but he holds on, allowing Erik to lift him up again.

He darts through pillars lining the side of the hall, keeping his eyes peeled for any kind of movement.  Night has finally fallen outside, the last of the light gone, but Erik’s eyes have adjusted for the most part to the dark and he finds his way swiftly but carefully along the wall until he comes to a corridor that branches off and quickly turns down it.

It’s carpeted, to his relief, his footsteps almost completely silenced by the thick material, so he breaks into a run, sending a silent inquiry to Charles.

“Third door,” Charles gets out, and when Erik receives an accidental brush of his mind he nearly cries out—Charles’ thoughts feel like a quickly unraveling ball of string as he’s starting to come undone, all toppling over like a series of books between two bookends after one of them has been removed.  “On the right.”

Erik finds the door and practically kicks it open, stumbling into a tight, narrow stairwell.  It leads both up and down but Erik doesn’t hesitate to start sprinting upwards into the pitch black, throwing one arm out in front of himself just in case it comes to an abrupt end.  Around and around he runs, growing faintly dizzy in the dark, his footsteps clattering and his panting echoing all around him but he doesn’t stop, following Charles’ now-silent direction to get to the very top.

He’s not sure how long he climbs before he runs smack into the door, his arm doing very little as a warning before he collides into wood with a loud thud, but he hardly cares, fumbling for the doorknob and twisting it, stepping out into a new corridor that stretches on in both directions.

 _Left_ , Charles whispers, _to the end._

Erik flat-out runs, heart in his throat, because if he doesn’t make it, if he’s too late—

There’s another doorway at the end of the corridor when he reaches it, and he barrels into it on purpose this time, pushing through desperately.  He’s dimly aware of the door shutting behind him, already running up the next set of spiraling stairs—stairs, stairs, always more _stairs_.

This set is much shorter than the previous, and at the top he steps out into a bedroom.

It’s just as he remembers from his dreams.  The room is wide and formal, and through the darkness he can make out the very same table and chairs next to the window that he and Charles spent long hours at, playing game after game of chess—Erik’s never seen it before in real life, but in his dreams he’d been proficient enough.  The tall, dark shapes that loom against the walls are the three bookcases, that Erik knows are filled completely full with thick tomes of every kind of subject in the realm, of which Erik is fairly certain Charles has memorized.

Against the far wall is the huge, four-poster bed that had never been a focal point in the dream, always off in the periphery with its thick canopy curtains drawn—Erik had always been much more focused on Charles, at any rate.  But now through the gloom he can see that the curtains are pulled back and tied to stay that way, and as he pads across the rug towards the bed he can make out the small, sleeping figure lying still beneath the blankets in the center—Charles.

Erik turns, letting Charles’ projection slide down off his back onto the edge of the bed.  Charles is in even worse shape now, his form nearly completely faded, and for a moment Erik hesitates, unsure what to do now that he’s finally made it here.  Charles can’t even form words anymore and all that Erik’s getting from him are vague sensations as his thoughts deteriorate, which is terrifying in of itself.

As carefully as he can, Erik gathers Charles up—at this point, it’s like trying to collect fog—and climbs up onto the bed, kneeling beside Charles’ limp body.  He lowers Charles’ projection down slowly, letting him drift down onto his body.  He flickers for a moment, and then Erik watches with a mix of fascination and trepidation as Charles’ projection seems to sink back down into his own skin, disappearing.

Erik feels the lack of Charles’ presence in his head like a hole.

He remains knelt beside Charles for a few long moments, waiting for some kind of sign that Charles will be alright, but nothing happens.  Charles doesn’t so much as stir, his slow, deep breathing of sleep unchanging, giving no sign as to whether he’ll wake again or not.

He’s forced to assume that Charles needs time to actually sleep and let his mind reorder itself, but Erik can’t help but reach down to touch him, now that he’s finally seeing Charles in the flesh, solid and real.  He brushes his fingertips against Charles’ cheek, feather-light, and then stops.

It’s no wonder that Charles’ projection has always been cold to the touch, as his actual skin is nearly icy.

Erik hesitates for a moment but then he clambers back off the bed, getting back up to his feet.  His boots come off first, kicked off one by one and left to lie where they fall.  He takes off his sheathed sword next, leaning it carefully against the wall within reach of the bed, and then goes for his belt, undoing the buckle and letting it drop down to the floor with a solid clunk.  His leather gauntlets follow next, and then he pulls his green tunic up over his head and dropping that as well, letting it pool in a pile on the ground before taking off his chainmail shirt with only a small amount of clinking from the ringlets and dropping it beside his tunic.

He’s left with only his tan leggings and thin white undershirt, which is good enough.  He’s already crawling back up onto the bed before he remembers his green hat, reaching up to pull it off and letting it drop over the side to the floor.

The pure adrenaline he’s been running on since waking up outside of Castle Town’s gates seems to have run out, because Erik finds himself yawning as he pulls back the blankets, eyelids beginning to droop.  He carefully slips under them, pulling them back up, and then sidles up to Charles, tucking himself around him and pressing close so that his body heat will spread, finally able to warm the smaller boy up.

The bed is comfy and Charles is snug against him, and even though they’re at the heart of danger Erik feels his eyes beginning to close as he shifts so that his face is pressed into the crook of Charles’ neck, his scent comforting and familiar and like home.

Erik sleeps.

 

X

 

He dreams of Charles, standing in Raven’s place in the crow’s nest of the ship, and he’s smiling softly as he says, “But you came for _me_.  I hardly had to wait at all.”

 

X

 

When he wakes, it is warm.

He drifts back into consciousness slowly, awareness returning a little bit at a time.  Sunlight is streaming in through the window across the room, creating a square on the carpet, and for a few long, drowsy moments he’s captivated by the golden particles of dust drifting in the air, illuminated by the sun.  He feels fully rested and utterly relaxed, for what feels like the first time in years, and gives a luxurious stretch.

And then he realizes that there’s another body pressed up against his.

Charles’ eyes are open, and he’s looking up at Erik and—his projection of himself hasn’t done him justice at _all_.  His eyes are quite possibly the deepest blue that Erik has ever seen, and for a moment he is completely still as they stare at each other, almost in shock and awe at seeing each other for real for the very first time.

Charles blinks, opening his mouth, but at first words don’t come out, left voiceless from disuse.  He swallows, all while Erik studies him rapturously, watching the way his throat works, and then tries again.

“Erik,” he says softly, “you’re here.”

Erik wants to laugh, maybe, or possibly—startlingly—sob, because yes, he is, isn’t he?  He is here, and so is Charles, and they’re together and Charles is okay, is _awake_ , and Erik can’t stop himself from reaching up between them, in the very little space that still exists from how they’ve unconsciously moved even closer together during their sleep, to trace the pads of his fingers across Charles’ cheek bone deftly.

Charles lets out a muffled gasp, eyes closing, and Erik draws back quickly, unsure, but then Charles is clinging to him tightly, eyes opening, wide and desperate.  “Oh, I d-didn’t—please, Erik, _please_ ,” he stammers out, the words riding on a sob, “it’s been so long since I’ve, since someone’s, touch me, _touch_ me—”

Erik does the only think he can think of, moving forward in their shared space and kissing him, slipping his arms around Charles’ smaller form so that he can run his hands up and down Charles’ back as he takes his mouth, stealing his breath away.  It’s so unlike their first kisses, when Charles had been a mere projection—his mouth is warm, now, his lips soft, and Erik can taste him, the real essence of Charles, as he plunders his mouth with his tongue.  Charles whimpers into the kiss, his grip on Erik only tightening, shivering beneath Erik’s hands as he tilts his head up and lets Erik have complete control, his tongue sliding against Erik’s with a wet sound.

Their bodies are pressed flush against one another now, not a single space left between them, and they both groan when their crotches rub together, jerking into the sensation.  Charles gasps into Erik’s mouth when Erik rolls them sideways, leaving Charles on his back with Erik on top of him, covering Charles’ body entirely with his, pinning him to the mattress.

Charles shudders at the sensation of being held captive in such a way, but he doesn’t fight, staying limp beneath Erik, even as he looks up at him, eyes wide with surprise.  Erik likes the feeling of Charles beneath him, safe and warm, and he nudges Charles’ legs apart so he can slip both of his own in between them, so that when he settles down they’re locked together from groin to chest.

Erik kisses him again slowly, taking his time to map out Charles’ mouth, and Charles yields beautifully, eyes flickering shut as he kisses Erik back, his hands ranging up and down Erik’s sides before sliding up his arms and over his shoulders, tangling at last in Erik’s hair.  Erik is hard, and he’s sure that his thin leggings are doing nothing to hide the fact from Charles, but Erik can feel Charles’ own arousal as well through whatever sleepwear he has on.

Experimentally, Erik rocks his body forward, dragging against Charles, and he’s rewarded when Charles’ eyes fly open wide again and he moans, hips jerking up automatically, and Erik clenches his eyes shut at the pleasure of their erections moving against one another, even if the motion is small and slight.  Erik does it again, pulling back from their kiss so he can watch Charles’ face as the smaller boy is unable to hold back a whine, cheeks flushed, mouth helplessly open as his breath stutters out in panting gasps.

Erik rolls his hips, grinding their crotches together to illicit a whimper as he ducks his head below Charles’ chin, mouthing at the soft, pale skin of his neck and throat, licking down until he finds Charles’ pulse point, beating fast and hard, and gives an openmouthed kiss there, wet and loud in the quiet of the room.  Then he sucks on the spot, all lips and tongue, and slowly thrusts his hips forward against Charles all the while, until Charles is writhing beneath him, a litany of pants falling from his lips as he throws his head back against the pillow, scrabbling to find leverage so he can move against Erik.

“Erik, _Erik_ , I—you, y-you—I, _a-ah_ —”

Erik grins into Charles’ skin, and then shifts down a little further to place another openmouthed kiss at the juncture of Charles’ neck and shoulder, pulling his lips back a little so he can graze the skin with his teeth ever so slightly.  He keeps up his slow, steady roll of his hips, achingly hard now, but it’s all worth it to hear and feel Charles slowly coming apart beneath him, blitzed by all of the sensations Erik is giving him.

He shifts his position, sitting up slightly by planting his hands on mattress on either side of Charles’ head, even though he keeps just barely rocking against Charles, enough to keep the other boy close to going insane with want.  Charles’ legs have spread wide on either side of Erik’s hips, knees bent with his feet digging down against the bed as part of his attempts for leverage, while his hands have slipped down from Erik’s hair to grip desperately at his forearms.  His entire body is trembling like a wire, drawn taut, and Erik can feel a mutual dampness down near their crotches where their cocks are both leaking, wet with arousal and want.

“Erik,” Charles pleads, wrecked, his hands moving to pull at the collar of Erik’s white undershirt, “Erik, please.”

Erik sits up straight entirely, pushing gently on Charles’ knees until his legs lie flat again and then straddles them, his own knees on either side of Charles’ hips, pressed forward so that the bulge in his pants is right up against Charles’.  Charles watches as Erik reaches up and pulls his shirt off over his head, revealing the long planes of his stomach and packed muscles of his chest—he’s always been fit, but all of the recent swordplay is certainly helping—before tossing it aside, leaning down to pull Charles’ thin shirt off as well.

Charles squirms at the rapt attention Erik pays as miles upon miles of pale, creamy skin is exposed, able to gaze down at his prince at last.  Charles is built elegantly, the lines of his body softer than Erik’s and yet the strength and force he possesses is still easy to see, compact and held neatly at bay.  His shoulders are dotted with a spread of freckles, suggesting a childhood spent outdoors, in the castle gardens most likely, and Erik can imagine him, laughing as he hides from his caretakers, darting through the hedges like a forest nymph.

“It’s strange, not being able to hear your thoughts,” Charles says, after they’ve spent a few still moments of looking at each other.  The pause has given him enough time to get his breathing under control, calming a little from his initial feverish begging, and now he sounds slightly nervous.  “I can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

Erik smirks at him, and then leans down to lick his right nipple, sucking the nub into his mouth to play at with his tongue, grinning as Charles cries out this time, hands lifting to paw at Erik’s back as if unsure whether he wants to hold Erik down in place or push him away as Erik swirls the sensitive flesh in his mouth.  Charles’ hips jerk up reflexively again and Erik groans when their erections rub against each other indirectly—the vibration of Erik’s mouth around his nipple makes Charles moan.

He licks his way across Charles’ chest, one long drag of his tongue, and then sets his attention on Charles’ other nipple, playing with it just as he had the first.  Charles is panting again, a long string of nonsensical syllables spilling from his lips as Erik puts one hand on his shoulder to hold his torso down in place while the other traces tantalizing lines up and down his belly, teasing as he shifts higher to trace Charles’ ribs and make him shiver.

When he finally pulls back off of Charles again for another look, Charles is a mess beneath him, nearly painfully aroused.  His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and his pupils are blown huge, all but the tiniest sliver of blue blotted out.  Erik leans forward to kiss him again, unable to resist Charles’ red lips, and they moan together into each other’s mouths when the motion has their cocks pressed tightly up against one another again, both trying in vain to thrust into the feeling.

Erik’s not unaffected himself.  His own breath is coming out as heaving gasps as he pulls back from their kiss, and at this rate he’s going to kill them both with want, with _need_ , if he doesn’t progress things quickly.  He already knows that neither of them are going to last long regardless—Charles is ready to go to pieces at any second—but that’s not the point, it’s never been the point, it’s just been about giving Charles the touch, the human contact that he’s missed for so long.

He’s really here, Erik realizes, going back to that first stunned train of thought, they’re really together, in reality, after weeks of dreams, and each nearly dying in each other’s arms, respectively, they are here.  Charles is so bright and sharp in the flesh, beautiful and bold as a prince should be, and in that sense it is almost surreal to be touching him, to be _able_ to touch him in this way.

Erik is closer to Charles than he’s ever been with anyone else—not even with the villagers of Ordon, who he’s known his entire life, has he felt this kind of deep, resounding connection to; he and Charles fit, somehow, as if they have always been fated to go together, time and time again.

Because if he is the true Hero, sent by the gods, the very same in all the legends, then Charles is the royal.  His destined partner through all the ages of the realm.

Charles can’t hear his thoughts, but he must see something painfully clear on Erik’s face because he reaches up for Erik, eyes soft, and says, “Come here.”

Erik goes.

It requires some shifting around to get both of their pants off, Charles laughing bright and fond when Erik nearly ends up on the floor, one leg still caught in his leggings, but Erik merely grins ruefully, pulling his leg free and then tackling Charles back down to muffle his laughter with a kiss.  They both groan when their newly-freed cocks touch, both breaking from the kiss to pant harshly, and Erik has to splay one hand across Charles’ belly to hold him down, calm and soothing.

“Erik,” Charles says, and he already looks ruined, “oh, Erik, I need you— _touch_ me—”

Erik positions himself over Charles, straddling his legs once again, and then reaches down to wrap his fingers around Charles’ straining cock.  The noise Charles makes is high-pitched and strangled, his eyes fluttering shut and his hands flying down to the bedspread to dig in and clench tightly.  Erik drags his hand up Charles’ length, all the way to the head, smearing his hand liberally with the leaking precum and passing his thumb over the slit.  Charles’ hips are straining up beneath him, his back arched off the bed in a beautiful curve, trembling with unspent tension as his mouth opens wordlessly, and Erik has to bite his lower lip to refocus himself and keep from coming at the sight.

He leans over Charles further, coming down to rest one elbow on the bed beside Charles’ shoulder, his hand cupping Charles’ cheek.  Charles opens his eyes again, staring up into Erik’s, and then lets out a cry when Erik fists both of their cocks together with his other hand, squeezing them just right so that they both gasp breathlessly, eyes still locked, and then he begins to move.

Charles rolls his hips up and Erik thrusts down, both of them fucking into the hole Erik has created with his hand, their cocks sliding together as they create a rhythm, panting in each other’s space.  Erik feels hot all over, orgasm already building in his core as he listens to Charles come apart beneath him, half-formed syllables dying on his lips, wide blue eyes unable to look away from his own as Erik touches both of them, thrusts growing more and more erratic as he reaches the edge.

Erik kisses Charles when they come, both of them shooting off hard and fast in his hand, and he swallows down Charles’ cry, keeping his hand tightly around them both and continuing to thrust his way through it, stars erupting across his vision as he fucks his tongue into Charles’ mouth in time with his hips.  Charles falls limp and boneless beneath him, and finally the drag of his hand becomes too much for their over-sensitized skin, so Erik lets go, moving his arm out from underneath himself before dropping down carefully on top of Charles, covering him like a blanket, utterly spent.

Charles lies still at first, chest heaving beneath where Erik has laid his head, and with one ear pressed against Charles’ skin he can hear the smaller man’s heart pounding heart gradually slowing, evening out as he comes down from the high.  Both of them are damp with sweat and wholly filthy, but Erik has never felt so content in his entire life.

Presently Charles hums softly, bringing his hands up to wrap around him and hold Erik to him, slowly and idly tracing the muscles of Erik’s back.  They stay like that for some time, letting the quiet in the room sit comfortably between them, pressed close together, until Charles finally lets his hands fall away from Erik’s back, one dropping down against the mattress while the other cups the back of Erik’s head gently.

Erik has fallen into a light doze, eyes half-closed, but he opens them fully when he feels Charles give a tiny sigh beneath him.  “I’m in love with you,” he murmurs into the quiet, so softly that Erik barely hears him, “I’ve been in love with you.”  He runs his fingers gently through Erik’s hair.  “I love you.”

Erik lifts his head, looking up at Charles, who looks back with bright, endlessly blue eyes and Erik picks himself up entirely so he can kiss him.  Unlike their previous kisses this one is soft and chaste, a mere press of their lips, but Erik pours every ounce of himself into it, knowing that Charles—Charles, always only Charles who knows him best—will understand him.

Charles closes his eyes, keeps his hand on the back of Erik’s head, and does.

 

X

 

There’s a door tucked into the corner of Charles’ room, and at Charles’ insisting Erik finally manages to drag himself up and help Charles over to it—it turns out his limbs are weak from disuse, with all of the sleeping his body has been doing over the past few weeks.  It leads to a bathroom, with a wide tub that sits beneath another sunny window, connected to a series of pipes that somehow pump all of the water up to the room.

“The whole castle gets water like this,” Charles says when he catches Erik studying them, “the engineering plans for it are astounding.  But this way, no one has to carry buckets of water up stairs for forever.”  Then he hesitates, suddenly and inexplicably shy.  “There’s, um, room for two.  If you want.”

So they bathe together, soaking in surprisingly warm water for quite awhile, and Erik uses it as another thinly-veiled excuse to touch Charles all over, unable to keep his hands away—and not wanting to in the first place.  Charles explores Erik in return, placing short, soft kisses along Erik’s collarbone while his fingers run endlessly up and down the muscles of Erik’s chest, gliding over every last inch of skin.

By the end they’re both half-hard again but too content and lazy to do anything about it just yet—they settle with Erik relaxed against the cool porcelain of the tub, legs spread wide against the edges so Charles can sit between them, leaned back against Erik comfortably.  Erik has one arm rested on the side of the tub but the other he wraps around Charles’ middle, holding him close, fingers splayed across his ribs.

“It is incredibly dangerous for you to be here,” Charles says, but he leans his head back so that it rests against Erik’s shoulder, limp and relaxed in his grip.

Erik knows.  There is evil in the castle, and even if he hasn’t seen any of the tell-tale darkness, he knows it’s there—lurking and biding its time.  If it discovers that he’s here, it will attack at once, and Erik knows he’ll be no match for it.  Irene had said that he’s not ready.  Not yet.

But he’d had no choice in coming here, to save Charles, and that’s what matters most to him right now—that Charles is alright.

“You shouldn’t stay long,” Charles says quietly, eyes closed as if he’s about to doze off, “you have to keep moving.  I think the only reason I woke up is because of your proximity.  Something in me answers to you, and vice versa.  That’s why it was you who answered my call when I was dreaming.  But I think when you leave, I’ll fall back asleep again.”

Erik hasn’t realized that he’s tightened his grip on Charles until the smaller boy’s fingers come to trail gently across his arm, soothing.  He loosens his grip at once, chagrinned.

Charles is smiling faintly.  “It’s better that way, my friend.  I’ll only slow you down like this, it’ll be much better for me to merely project.  And this way, Shaw won’t be looking for me if I go missing.  Shaw needs me, but he also needs you.  We three are connected.”  He opens his eyes, tilting his head back further so he’s looking up at Erik.  “It still sleeps in you.  But not for much longer, I think.  Shaw, you, and I have destinies that are tightly woven.”

Erik gazes down into Charles’ steady blue eyes.  He knows how the old legends go.  The old, evil power, the young, wise royal, and the strong, courageous hero.  It’s a long, spinning cycle of Hyrulian legend that is coming true right before his eyes.

“You shouldn’t stay long,” Charles repeats softly, but then he shifts, and Erik moves his arm so Charles can turn to face him with a small splash of the cooling water, knelt between his legs and leaning up into his space, “but please.  Give me one more night.”

Erik kisses him, slow and unhurried because he’s not going anywhere until Charles orders him to.  He drops his arm down across Charles’ back and draws him up closer, pressing their chests together.  He shifts his legs, drawing them away from the sides of the tub so Charles can straddle him, hands braced on the porcelain as they slot neatly together.

Erik can feel both himself and Charles getting harder, but their kisses remain languid, focused on tasting one another as Charles leans up into him, Erik gladly giving him leverage as he keeps his arm firm against Charles’ back to hold him in place.  He doesn’t like the idea of leaving Charles here alone—and defenseless in sleep, if he’s right about the fact of Erik’s proximity being the only reason he’s awake—in this huge, empty castle with no company besides an old, ancient evil bent on destroying the realm.

Charles draws a ragged breath as he cants his hips forward, dragging his cock against the flat plane of Erik’s stomach, the water in the tub swishing around them.  Erik repositions his arms, locking them around Charles’ slighter frame to help him balance as he slowly rubs himself off, the water lapping at the sides of the tub the only sound in the room besides their increasingly-ragged breathing.

Erik is rock hard, now, but he stays still as he watches Charles’ face as the prince moves against him, bringing himself closer and closer to the edge—his mouth has fallen open, cheeks flushed, and his eyes are half-lidded with unmistakable lust as he lifts himself up and down, their wet skin sliding together.  Charles comes with a muffled gasp when Erik tilts his body up to meet him, shaking apart, and his head drops forward to rest on Erik’s shoulder as he pants.

Erik needs desperately to move, get friction against his cock, but he makes himself stay still, running his hands up and down across Charles’ back as the smaller boy regains his breath.  He can feel Charles’ ass just barely brushing against the head of his cock, and it’s taking all of his might not to thrust upward, and hold Charles down in place and just rut against him until he comes.

“Just a moment, darling,” Charles says, as if he’s still able to read Erik’s thoughts, “I’ll help you.”

Charles reaches back for the plug in the bottom of the tub and pulls it, the water beginning to drain away quickly.  He pushes himself shakily to his feet, careful not to bump Erik, and then steps over him out of the tub, fumbling for a towel.  Erik stays where he is, watching as Charles gives himself a quick wipe down, drying off, before turning around to offer Erik a hand out of the tub.

Erik rises stiffly, his cock still hard between his legs, climbing out of the tub and standing still under Charles’ direction as the prince begins to dry him off, running the towel over his shoulders and arms, before reaching up with a grin to fluff Erik’s hair, and laughing when Erik bats at him.

“Almost done,” he promises, circling around Erik to dry off his back.  He’s certainly doing a far better job on Erik than he did on himself, but Erik holds still as Charles comes back around again, giving his chest and stomach a few rubs.

And then Charles kneels down in front of him, and Erik stops breathing.

Charles meets his gaze, never breaking eye contact as he dries Erik’s legs off slowly, one at a time.  When he has to reach around Erik to get the backs of his legs, he shifts up close, and Erik nearly groans as Charles nuzzles against his inner thigh, pressing his lips against Erik’s skin there as he towels off the back of his legs.  His cock is beginning to leak now, slick with want as Charles slowly sits back, finally dropping the towel.

“Is this okay,” Charles says, sitting up again as his hands slowly slide up Erik’s thighs, coming to rest on his hips, thumbs tracing circles on his hip bones.

Erik can only nod his head once, breath caught in his throat.

Charles huffs out a tiny laugh, his breath stirring across Erik’s cock, and Erik thinks he’s going to go mad if Charles doesn’t—

The prince grips the base of Erik’s cock with one hand, the touch alone enough to make Erik jump, and then sucks his length down into the warm heat of his mouth.

Erik lets out a strangled moan, and feels his knees grow weak so he locks them, somehow managing to stay upright as Charles bobs his head.  He’s captivated by the sight of his cock disappearing into the wet, round ring of Charles’ red lips, and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when Charles pulls almost all the way off to lick at his slit, hips stuttering forward involuntarily, Charles’ hand at the base the only thing stopping him from coming.

He blinks through his haze of arousal, because he doesn’t want to hurt Charles, but Charles merely blinks up at him and then swallows him down again, giving him a small tap on the side with his hand that still rests on Erik’s hip.  At the same time, he takes his hand away from the base of Erik’s cock, still looking up at him.

Erik rolls his hips forward, hesitantly at first, but then when Charles doesn’t protest he thrusts forward harder, setting up a pace as he fucks the prince’s mouth.  Charles tilts his head up and _lets_ him, taking Erik’s cock in deeper and deeper with every thrust, curling his tongue as much as he can to lick with a moan that vibrates around Erik, making him lose his composure entirely.

He comes deep in Charles’ throat with a cry, and Charles chokes at first before swallowing, muscles working.  Dazed, Erik can only watch as Charles pulls off with a wet pop, licking his lips once and giving Erik a smug grin.

Erik finally manages to unlock his knees, and he drops down to the floor in front of Charles, pulling him forward for a messy kiss—he can taste himself of Charles’ lips—and then drops his head on Charles’ shoulder, fighting back a grin when he hears Charles laugh.

“There,” Charles says, sounding amused as he wraps his arms around Erik, “that’s better, isn’t it?”

Erik rocks against him, jostling him, but they stay like that for a few minutes, knelt together on the floor, and Erik actually can’t think of anything better at all.


	9. I'll see you when I fall asleep

They spend the rest of the day wrapped in each other, content for now to be confined to Charles’ room.  Despite having spent weeks fast asleep, Charles is exhausted by just being awake and Erik spends much of the afternoon holding him while he sleeps, dozing off himself despite his attempts not to—their quest so far has been long and while he won’t shy away from it, he is still tired.

He dreams only once and it’s different than the previous nightmares that have been plaguing him but no less chilling—he’s looking down at himself, where his body floats on the surface of the water, limp and cold in what can only be death.  A long, dark sword is buried in his chest and sticks up out of the water in an eerie imitation of a sail.  His shadow doppelganger perches on top of the hilt in a crouch, looming over him like a vulture.

He shudders awake when the shadow looks up at him, red eyes burning, but fortunately he doesn’t wake Charles, who is curled beside him.  Erik doesn’t fall back asleep for a long time, but when he does he fortunately does not dream again.

When the window shows that it is dusk again outside, Charles finally rouses himself and gets up to pace back and forth across the room, weary but restless all at once.

“You should leave in the morning,” he decides, “it’ll do no good to linger here.  We’re pushing our luck as it is.  Once you’re gone I should fall back under the spell, and it’ll be a small matter for me to find your mind and anchor myself again.”

Erik watches him as he strides back and forth.  Charles’ body is lithe and his movements are very telling, Erik thinks, of his rank—he walks with authority, bold and sure of himself, wearing confidence like a cloak, even inadvertently.

He is the true king of Hyrule, Erik realizes, glad again for the fact that like this, Charles isn’t a mind reader.  It’s a little dizzying, and Erik blinks twice without really meaning to.  Charles may only be prince in title now, but once the realm is restored, he will be king.

He will be a good king.

“If you take the north gate out of the city, that’ll put you on the road leading north towards Lake Hylia.  It’ll cut the distance we have to travel in half if we cross the Great Bridge, instead of going our original route of avoiding the city altogether and circumventing the lake through the mountains.”  Charles comes to a stop, putting a hand up to his forehead.  “I’m fine,” he says, chagrinned, to Erik’s eyebrow raise, “I just wish I didn’t feel so weak.  I hate it.”

Erik slides to his feet, padding over across the thick rug towards Charles.  Charles watches him approach, eyes weary—even with his special connection to Erik enabling him to be awake, the sleeping spell is still fighting for dominance, leaving Charles exhausted.  When Erik draws even with him, he gently replaces Charles’ hand with his own, rubbing soothing circles against Charles’ temple with his thumb.

Charles leans into the touch, tactile as always.  Even in the fading half-light—they don’t dare light any of the lamps in the room and run the risk of drawing attention to themselves—he is still radiant, and Erik swallows once as he looks down at Charles, _his_ Charles, who thinks he holds the whole weight of Hyrule on his shoulders alone.

“I wish we’d met differently,” Charles murmurs into the quiet of the room, looking up at Erik, “I wish that it didn’t have to be like this.  But I’ll take what I can get.  You’re here.  That’s what matters right now.”

Erik steps further into his space to kiss him, the hand on Charles’ forehead slipping around through his hair to cup the back of his head as their mouths slide together.  Charles breaks the kiss first, backing away, but he reaches up to take Erik’s hand, slipping their fingers together loosely, and gives him a small tug, never breaking eye contact as he walks backwards, leading Erik after him.

Erik goes willingly, stepping after Charles as the shorter boy backs up against the nearest bookcase, continuing to hold Erik’s gaze, eyes smoldering, as he steps back onto the bottom shelf, lifting himself up high enough so that he can just barely perch on the edge of the third shelf, not quite sitting and not quite still standing as he grips the small ladder next to him tightly.  Erik moves forward fluidly, right between Charles’ parted legs, plastering himself right up against Charles’ warm, firm body and pressing him back against the bookcase.

Charles shifts beneath him, and Erik feels every single flex of muscle in close, intimate detail, the movement sending a hot wash of desire pulsing through him.  He bends his head down so that he and Charles share breaths, lips just barely grazing, and shifts his hand in Charles’ grip, moving down to grip Charles wrist.  He lifts Charles’ arm as high as it can reach and then moves it over to the side, holding the smaller boy’s arm splayed out, holding him captive.

“Erik,” Charles says, the name a whispered prayer in the scant space between them, heavy with need.

Erik kisses him thoroughly, deep and slow, sliding his tongue through Charles’ mouth and then pulling back to suck on his lower lip, the wet noise loud in the otherwise silent room.  Charles’ other hand is still clutching at the side of the bookcase ladder so Erik puts his free hand on the shelf over Charles’ head, boxing him in completely.

Charles moans when Erik shifts to the side and lifts one leg, resting his foot on the bottom shelf so he can slide one knee up between Charles’ legs, pressing right up against his groin.  Charles grinds down once, twice against Erik’s knee as best as he can, squirming in Erik’s grip as he pants, trapped as he works himself up.  It feels very hot now where they’re pressed together, and Erik lifts his knee a little higher to tease out a desperate sound as he ducks his head down to kiss at Charles’ throat, made easily accessible as the smaller boy throws his head back with a breathy groan, knocking against the books.

“Erik,” Charles says breathlessly, chest heaving, and the sound goes straight to Erik’s cock, “I need you.  I _need_ you.  I need you to—”  He chokes out a gasp when Erik moves his knee, his entire body quivering where Erik holds him.  “I need you inside me,” he gets out, breathing the words into Erik’s ear.  “I want.  You.”

Erik groans, dropping his knee so that he can grind his whole body against Charles’, almost feverish with the heat he can feel burning between them, a spell all on its own that he has willingly fallen under.  His entire body feels as if he has a livewire of lightning running through him, grounded in Charles—only Charles, because Erik has never ached for someone in this way before in his entire life, and he’s sure that Charles feels it too.

“In the drawer by the bed,” Charles manages to say, his words riding a hiss of breath, “there’s a jar—”

Erik’s not sure how he pulls off of Charles, but he does so at once, stumbling away towards the bed and the small table that sits beside it, his cock hard and stiff between his legs.  Night has fallen at last so he fumbles for the handle of the drawer in the dark for a moment before his fingers finally catch on it, and he yanks it open, shoving his hand inside.  He finds the jar almost instantly, snatching it up, and then turns back towards the bookcase and freezes.

Night has fallen but the moon has risen, bright and full outside the window.  Charles is exactly where Erik left him, splayed out obscenely against the bookcase, except one thing has changed—he’s taken off his clothes, so the moonlight falls across his naked skin, highlighting every smooth, pale curve of his body, and illuminating his eyes like twin stars that sear through Erik even from across the room.

“Come here,” Charles says softly, and Erik goes.

He sets the jar down on the same shelf that Charles is perched on, kissing him slowly again.  The burning desire between them is no less intense, but the urgency has been lost, neither of them willing to rush.  In between kisses they work together to get Erik undressed as well, Charles’ fingers ghosting across his chest as he helps draw Erik’s shirt over his head, trailing back down to his stomach, making Erik shiver as he dips down past the waistband of his leggings, dragging them down and off.

“One finger first,” Charles murmurs as Erik picks up the jar again and unscrews the lid, stepping out of his pants at the same time.

Erik swipes a finger down into the jar, covering it with as much slick as possible, and then moves back to cover Charles’ body again with his own, flesh to flesh.  Charles spreads his legs wide, and Erik’s clean hand reaches up to find the wrist of Charles’ hand that is still splayed out against the bookcase, gripping him there as he reaches down between them, past their straining cocks, to find Charles’ hole.  Charles’ free hand grasps his wrist to help guide him.

“O-Oh,” Charles stutters when Erik probes him lightly, tracing out the rim of his entrance teasingly, “Erik, please—”

Erik slides his finger in slowly, soaking in every choked-off sound that Charles makes as he arches his back.  Erik pins his legs open with his own when Charles instinctively tries to close them, pressing closer, and sliding his finger deeper into Charles, who is hot and tight around him.

He works Charles with his finger slowly, moving his hand back and forth, stretching him open, looking through the moonlight into Charles’ eyes as they look at each other breathlessly.  Erik kisses him again, and Charles returns the kiss with every bit of the same passion, whispering sweet nothings against Erik’s lips when Erik pulls his finger out to get more of the slick.

Charles moans when Erik slides two fingers in, his eyes flickering shut as Erik stretches him, and Erik’s cock gives a twitch at the sound but he moves his fingers slowly, so slowly, taking his time to work Charles open.  His entire universe has once more narrowed down to Charles—the sounds that fall from his lips, the way his body feels under him, around him, every minute change to his expression as the moonlight falls across his body, shadowed only by Erik’s.

He’s nearly sobbing by the time Erik has three fingers inside of him, moving back against them with what little leverage he has, eyes squeezed shut.  Erik presses in as deep as he can go, moving his fingers apart slowly, feeling Charles loosen.  Charles’ free hand is gripping his shoulder tightly now, knuckles white, his breathing coming out harshly in the quiet of the room, but when Erik moves to pull back and stop entirely, he shakes his head.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at Erik, “gods, Erik, don’t stop.”

Erik slicks himself up, the feeling of his hand on his own cock making his breath catch as he strokes himself, the grip he has on Charles’ wrist above both their heads so tight now that he’ll probably leave a bruise.  Charles spreads his legs as wide as they’ll go, breathing with him, and then Erik slowly, _slowly_ pushes up, Charles’ breath hitching, and slides his cock into the smaller boy.

“Erik,” Charles says, his legs lifting on either side of Erik’s as gravity does the work for him, his body slipping down to sheath Erik inside of him, “o-oh, _Erik_.”

Erik braces his free hand on the shelf above Charles’ head.  His own head drops down for a moment, his forehead pressing against Charles’ as he remains still, overloaded by the feeling of Charles’ body around him, tight and hot and nearly too much.  His mouth falls open as he draws in jagged breaths, his heart pounding so hard that Charles can probably feel it.

“You feel,” Charles whispers, mouthing feverishly against Erik’s lips, his free hand moving from Erik’s shoulder to grip Erik’s hair at the back of his head, “you feel—so—”

Erik angles his chin lower so he can catch Charles’ lips in a soft kiss, and then rolls his hips up, starting to move against Charles.  They pant into each other’s mouths as Erik thrusts slowly into Charles, sliding in and out, until the heated drag is all Erik knows, his entire body hot all over.  Charles is beautiful, riding Erik’s cock, a full-body flush creeping down his cheeks and throat and chest, his hand on the back of Erik’s head keeping their faces close, so close, as they come together again and again.

It is in this moment, in the heavy silence of the dark room, broken only by Charles’ hitched breaths and Erik’s own muffled exhales, as he buries himself in Charles so deeply that Charles encompasses all of his senses, that Erik knows without a doubt that he can save Hyrule—if only for Charles.  He has slotted himself neatly into the center of Erik’s universe, has become what absolution feels like—he may have failed Raven, long ago in the past, but he will not fail Charles.

Together they will cast out the darkness and bring in the light.

Charles’s spine goes ramrod straight as he comes, Erik’s name slipping out past his lips as a plea, trembling apart as he coats their stomachs white.  Erik follows him a moment later, biting down on Charles’ lip as he comes inside him, vision going black for a moment as all the tension in his body uncoils with release, hips canting forward jerkily a couple of times as he rides his orgasm out to completion.

They slump together, damp foreheads pressing together as they continue to share breathing air, coming down from the high.  Charles strokes the back of Erik’s head absently and Erik rubs a thumb over the back of Charles’ hand that he still holds pinned, remaining joined together, sticky with sweat and come.

Erik feels wrung out, cut open and raw, by the sheer amount of feeling between them.  His heart is full, close to bursting, and it can’t be anything other than pure, untainted love for Charles—if he holds darkness, his shadow doppelganger—then Charles can only hold light, and Erik is wholly captivated; a moth drawn to flames, and willing to fly through them.

“I love you,” Charles says, blue eyes incandescent as he looks at Erik through the dark, bioluminescent in the waves of the sea where Erik first remembered, “Erik.  I love you.”

Erik kisses him, and they stay pressed close for a long, long time.

 

X

 

In the morning, Erik stands still while Charles dresses him. 

The light of dawn streams in from the window, bathing them both with soft light as Charles lifts Erik’s chainmail shirt over his head, allowing it to fall down around him and helping Erik get his arms through the sleeves.  He runs his hands down Erik’s sides, smoothing the shirt into place, and then turns back for Erik’s green tunic, shaking it out gently before reaching up, extending his whole body, to get it on him.

He holds Erik’s gaze as he straightens out the fabric, making sure it falls just so.  “All the Heroes from the legends wore green,” he says quietly, brushing off Erik’s shoulders.  “Green suits you.”

He helps Erik get his hands into his gloves and then laces up Erik’s leather gauntlets next, one arm at a time.  Erik watches Charles’ fingers as he adjusts the straps deftly, making sure that they’re neither too tight nor too loose.

Charles kneels in front of him gracefully, and Erik’s breath catches a little when he can’t help but remember the last time Charles had gotten down on his knees in front of him.  Charles must be thinking along the same lines because the corner of his mouth twitches for a moment but he otherwise remains serious as he helps Erik step into his boots, letting Erik put one hand on his shoulder to brace himself.  His hands trail around Erik’s calves, making sure that Erik’s leggings are tucked in properly.

When he rises again in a single, fluid motion, he picks up Erik’s belt and pouch.  Erik lifts his arms slightly as Charles steps forward, pressing close for a moment while he gets the belt around Erik’s narrow waist, making sure the pouch settles comfortably in place before he steps back again to do the buckle.  Erik breathes slow and steady as Charles slips the leather and brass into place, pulling the belt snug and tucking in the extra end through the loop.  He’s still close enough for Erik to feel the warmth of his body.

Charles tilts his head up to look at him, his hands still resting on the front of Erik’s belt.  “Almost done.”

Erik kisses him, soft and chaste, keeping his hands where they are at his sides so that the only point of connection they have are their lips and Charles’ fingertips.  Charles kisses back, eyes closing, but doesn’t allow it to last long, pulling away gently and stepping back after only a brief moment.  His eyes are warm, though, and he gives Erik a lingering look before turning away to walk across the room where Erik’s sword and shield lean against the wall.

He picks up the sword first, carrying the sheath back over to Erik and helping him shrug it on, the strap falling diagonally across Erik’s chest.  Charles toys with the buckle for a moment, adjusting it, and drawing the extra side-strap across Erik’s ribs so that the sheath on his back will stay in place, the hilt of the sword just over Erik’s shoulder and within easy reach.

Erik rolls his shoulders as Charles crosses back over to retrieve his shield, letting the sheathed sword on his back settle into familiar place.  Strangely enough, he feels better with it on.

Charles lifts the shield with both hands.  “We should have taken the time to polish this,” he says as he carries it back over to Erik, “but I’m hardly going to complain about how we chose to spend our time.”

Erik snorts, and Charles’ lips quirk in another tiny grin as he circles around Erik to place the shield on Erik’s back, attaching it to his sheath—another comforting, familiar weight that falls easily into place between his shoulder blades.

“There.” Charles comes back around to stand in front of him, surveying him with clear blue eyes.  He’s haloed by the morning light coming in through the window and for a moment he looks ethereal, like something out of a legend or dream. 

But he is solid and real, and Erik loves him with a ferocity that makes his chest feel tight.

“Ready for battle,” Charles continues, unaware for now of Erik’s thoughts.  He holds out a hand calmly.  “Your sword.”

Erik draws his sword slowly, letting the metal scrape loudly against the leather, lifting the blade up.  He shifts his grip on it and presents it to Charles hilt first, allowing the prince to take it from his hand without the danger of being cut.

Charles wields the blade easily, his arm steady as he holds it out in front of himself.  Despite his love for knowledge and books, he is the crown prince—he must have had training all through his youth on swordplay, Erik realizes.

Charles shifts his eyes from the sword tip back to Erik’s face.  “Kneel.”

Erik folds down to one knee at once.

“There’s an entire ceremony for this,” Charles admits, tapping first Erik’s right shoulder and then his left with the sword point, “but this will do.  It’s more for you and me, anyway.”

Erik bows his head and Charles places the tip of the blade on the crown of his head, letting it rest there for a moment.  The steel is cool, but does not cut—Charles’ grip remains steady.

“You are my Hero, you are my protector,” Charles says simply.  “You are my love.”  He lifts the blade off of Erik’s head.  “Rise.”

Erik stands, accepting his sword back when Charles offers it to him.  They’re standing very close now, so that Charles has to tilt his chin up so he can meet Erik’s gaze.  Erik looks back unblinkingly, slipping his sword back into its sheath by pure muscle memory.

Charles’ blue eyes are wide, but his voice is steady.  “As crown prince of Hyrule I give you my blessing, and—” he digs something out of his pocket, a small velvet pouch that he presses into Erik’s hand, “—my token.  I’ve already asked, and you’ve already agreed, but—save our realm, Erik.  All of our fate rests in your hands and in the edge of your sword.”

Erik is still for a moment, holding the pouch loosely in his fingers, and then he shoves it into a pocket, surging forward to kiss Charles for all he’s worth.  Charles meets him halfway this time, hands coming up to tangle in Erik’s hair, and he makes a small sound as he parts his lips, allowing Erik to finally deepen the kiss.  Erik picks him up, crushing their bodies together, and Charles lets out a muffled laugh as he wraps his legs around Erik’s waist, smiling into the kiss.

Erik carries him over to the bed and Charles yelps when Erik dumps him in the sheets, turning it into another laugh when Erik tucks him in, purposefully exaggerating his movements with a wry smile.  He sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing back Charles’ hair gently.

“You’ll see me soon,” Charles says with a small smile, looking up at him, “it shouldn’t take long for the spell to kick in once you’re gone.  I’ll be asleep again in no time.”

Erik nods.  He still doesn’t like leaving Charles here, alone in a huge castle housing an ancient evil power, but he knows that physically, Charles is too weak to travel—maybe if he hadn’t been caught by the sleeping spell in the first place he’d be more than fine, but as it stands now Charles’ eyelids are already beginning to droop, sapped of strength and energy.

“Remember, take the north gate out of the city,” Charles says, even as he reaches up out of his covers to brush his fingers across Erik’s cheek, “and follow the road from there.  I’ll find you.  Oh, and one more thing.”  With his other hand he pulls out Erik’s green hat.  “Can’t forget this.”

Erik huffs out a laugh but allows Charles to put it on him, brushing it back over his shoulder so that it’s not drooping in either of their faces.

Charles smiles again, one last time.  “I love you.”

Erik holds Charles’ fingers to his cheek as he bends over to kiss Charles, soft and tender.  He pulls away slowly, rising to his feet, letting Charles’ hand slip from his at the last possible moment.  He’s able to turn away as he walks towards stairs but he pauses once he’s on the threshold, and looks back.

Charles still watches him, small and alone in his bed.  When their gazes meet he says softly, “I’ll see you when I fall asleep.”

Erik gives him a nod, and then turns and slips down the stairs.

It’s only slightly easier to keep going once he’s in the corridor below, the door to Charles’ room shut firmly behind him.  This isn’t goodbye, he reminds himself firmly as he jogs down the hall, silent on the thick carpet, he’s going to see Charles again very soon.  He may not be in the flesh but at least he’ll be _there_ , with Erik.

He finds the door to the narrow servant’s stairwell, figuring that he may as well go back down through the castle the same way he came up.  He opens the door slowly and pauses for a few moments, listening intently, but when all he hears is silence he proceeds downwards, making sure that the door shuts behind him.  The stairs are still winding, but Erik finds that the trip down doesn’t seem to take nearly as long as the trip up—then again, he’s not panicking and carrying a swiftly-fading Charles on his back this time, either.

When he reaches the bottom, he cautiously sticks his head out into the hall, looking left and right.  Just because Charles’ room had been a safe haven, the rest of the castle is unknown territory—if Shaw is here, he could be anywhere.  The lavish castle corridor is empty, however, so Erik steps out of the stairwell and quickly makes his way back towards the grand entrance hall.

In the bright morning sun Erik can actually make out his surroundings, and he stops for a moment on the edge of the hall in awe, staring up at the giant stained glass window that dominates the back wall.  It tells an entire story, each panel of glass glittering in the sunlight, and Erik recognizes the tale instantly—it’s the Great Flood.  Strangely enough, the Hero isn’t absent and Erik can see him, a tiny figure of emerald-colored glass, doing battle against huge monsters and finally, towards the end of the mural, standing side-by-side, holding hands with a princess, the pink glass of her gown bright against the blue background.

Erik gives a small frown.  The stained glass tells a much different tale from the one Charles had described.  In this one, Erik can almost believe that he—the Hero—had been successful, had saved the princess from the evil power.  And yet, now that he looks, he realizes that in the final panel the Hero and the princess are standing on a red boat, adrift on waves.  Had he saved the princess, then, but lost the realm?

He shivers, not from cold but rather from a distinct light-headed feeling, as if he’s feeling things from a great distance.  He’s forgotten something, something vitally important, but he can’t remember what.

Erik forces himself to tear his gaze away from the stained glass, inexplicably queasy.

He starts to feel a little better as he jogs through the entrance hall, footsteps echoing lightly off the high, vaulted ceiling as he puts distance between himself and the window.  He has no place dwelling on the past right now—he has to keep moving forward.

Erik makes it out of the massive front doors of the castle, emerging out into the wide plaza.  Stretched out before him is the cobblestone path lined on either side by the tall hedges of the castle gardens, which end at the tall wall that surrounds the castle grounds.  Over the top of it, at this height, he can see some of the roofs of the buildings of Castle Town.

A horn blast cuts through the silence, making him jump, and the sound is so deep that he can feel it in his bones.  Even though the blast is short it still resonates within him.  He turns and looks back up at the castle, confused, but that’s all it takes to send him sprinting towards the gates of the wall.

Darkness is cascading down from within the castle, much like a waterfall, and Erik doesn’t need to turn around to know that it’s gaining on him.  He runs across the cobblestone, hedges passing in a blur, muscles screaming with the exertion as he pushes himself to go faster and faster, all of his instincts clamoring for him to get out of the castle grounds, to get away, away—

He slams through the gates, stumbling out into the street, and they slam shut behind him.  He turns in time to watch the darkness billow upward into a tall, dark cloud that obscures the castle entirely from view, hovering just at the edges of the wall but going no further.  Panting, Erik reaches out shakily to touch the gates, yanking back his hand quickly when the wood sparks with dark energy—the way is shut.

Erik swallows, looking up at the menacing cloud.  Charles is in there.  Charles is trapped within the darkness.

He has to believe in Charles, though, and maintain confidence that Charles will find him.  Erik automatically glances around the empty street, half-expecting to see Charles’ projection standing and waiting for him, but Erik is quite alone.  He hesitates uncertainly, but there’s no way he can get back into the castle now.  The only thing to do is press onward.  Charles will find him.

Charles _has_ to find him.

Erik turns up the street, heading north.  Castle Town is just as silent as before, and all the more eerie for it in the daylight.  The soft chink of his sword and shield shifting on his back seems unusually loud as he walks up the abandoned street.  At least the darkness hadn’t covered the entire town, but if the townspeople were asleep before they’re definitely out cold now—Erik grits his teeth.  Whatever it is that waits for him in the west on the edges of the Gerudo Desert had better be enough for him to defeat the darkness.  It’s not just Charles who is counting on him—it’s all of Hyrule.

He reaches the north gate of the city, unsurprised to find it unguarded.  At least there aren’t nightmares loose in the streets.

Erik passes through the gates, leaving the city behind.  He half-expects the black cloud of darkness to suddenly extend outwards from the castle grounds and blanket the entire city, but when he looks back one final time, the cloud remains billowing around the castle.  Erik can almost feel that it’s a taunt, in some way, though surely if Shaw had known Erik has been in Charles’ room for the past day he would’ve struck then.

The other assumption Erik can make is that Shaw is just biding his time and gathering power.  That grim thought makes him turn away, putting the city to his back.  He’ll just have to get even stronger.

He’s standing at the top of a wide stone ramp that leads down to the road.  There’s a wide meadow, which the road cuts across before disappearing as it curves around a hill.  Off in the distance, the hills grow taller and taller until they become mountains.  Even from here Erik can see the peaks capped with snow—the Far North is a bitterly cold place, on the complete opposite end of the realm of where he’s from.

Erik lingers a moment longer, hoping for Charles to appear, but he knows he can’t just keep waiting so he heads out, running down the ramp and then settling into a steady pace for the road.  It’s a beautiful day, the sun bright and the air just crisp enough to keep the worst of the heat at bay, though soon he supposes that he’ll want as much heat as possible.  He crosses the meadow quickly, sticking to the dirt road, and curves around the hill, putting Castle Town out of sight.

He keeps his mind open wide, though, like a beacon for Charles.

The road winds its way through the hills, just as empty as all the other roads Erik has traveled on thus far, until finally he comes to a cliff and has to stop for a moment in sheer wonder.

The land comes to an abrupt end and just drops, gone so suddenly that it makes him dizzy to look out across such vast, open space.  Down below there is a lake, so large that for a second Erik thinks that he’s found the ocean and all he can do is stare, even as his brain catches up and reminds him that this must be Lake Hylia.  He’s never seen so much water in one place at once, crystal clear and sparkling beneath the sun.  He sees a river flowing in from the south, emptying into the lake, and it must be the same one that he and Charles had passed back in Hyrule Field.

There is a bridge, long and white, that extends out high above the lake, allowing the road to continue on up into the mountains on the other side.  Erik walks out onto the stone slowly, peering down over the side of the railing at the water below, still amazed.  There are a few small patches of land here and there along the lakeside, but otherwise it’s just endless water, flowing northward—the lake tapers out into another wide river that, like the road, heads up deeper into the mountains.

When he’s halfway across the bridge he stops, suddenly aware that his boots have been making soft splashing noises as he walks.  He looks down.  Water on the bridge?  But it has a very distinct, acrid smell that nearly reminds him of the oil in his lantern.

Erik looks up at the sound of a harsh, guttural cry.  A monster has appeared at the other end of the bridge, hefting a bow.  Before Erik can react, it lights an arrow, aims high, and releases—confused, Erik can’t help but watch the flaming arrow soar over his head, far too high to come even close to hitting him.  It hits the other end of the bridge, clattering off the stone, and suddenly there is a fire.

It only takes a fraction of a moment for him to connect the dots—that’s not water he’s standing it, it’s fuel.  He whips around to run towards the monster but the nightmare has already lit the other end of the bridge on fire as well, trapping Erik between two walls of flames that are steadily creeping closer and closer.  Erik looks around wildly, but there’s nowhere for him to go—except down.

He hoists himself up onto the railing and is immediately struck by vertigo, swaying.  The water of the lake is a long way down from here.  By now he can feel the heat from the flames on his back and it won’t do him any good if his boots catch on fire, so Erik lets out a wild cry and jumps.

He yells all the way down, but the wind whipping past his ears is so loud that it’s all he can hear as he plummets.  He has what feels like a split second to brace for impact and then he hits the surface of the water, plunging into the cold depths.  The impact knocks the air out of him and he sputters in a wash of bubbles, disorientated and confused and unsure which way is up.

Erik somehow manages to kick to the surface, drawing in a deep, gasping breath as he breaks into fresh air.  His legs feel sodden and heavy as he desperately kicks, treading water to stay afloat even as he coughs and sputters, trying to get his bearings.

“Whoa!  Shit, man, that was insane!” A voice calls suddenly with a wild laugh, and Erik casts his gaze around until it lands on a lone figure hopping up and down on the nearest shore, waving for his attention.  “Over here, dude!”

Erik’s a little wary to approach while at such a strong disadvantage—floundering in the water while the man holds the upper ground on the land—but his head is still ringing and he thinks he can feel himself starting to sink so he paddles over.

“Gimme your hand, man,” the man says when Erik gets closer, extending his own, so Erik grasps his hand and allows himself to be pulled up onto dry land.

He collapses in a heap, his legs not quite ready to work yet, and then rolls over onto his back so that he can breathe, looking up at the blue sky overhead blearily.  Out of the corner of his eye he can see the bridge, all traces of the fire gone now; the fire must have burned out all of the fuel.

“Dude, you just like jumped off the Great Bridge!” His new companion is standing over him, grinning widely at him.  “Got a death wish or something?”  He laughs.  “Your hat is funky, man.”

Erik sits up slowly and then climbs back up to his feet.  He’s already feeling steadier, his head clearing as he takes in his surroundings.  The island they’re on is small, but it’s connected to a series of other islands by small rope bridges.  At the end there’s a floating wooden dock, leading out to a—house?

“I like you,” the man declares, pointing a finger at him, “you’re a real dare devil, aren’t you?  Well, dude, it’s your lucky day.  My name is Wade and I’ve got something I think you’ll absolutely love.”

Erik’s hardly paying attention, still trying to figure out what exactly is sticking out of the roof of the floating house.  It’s huge, almost comically so, and if Erik is honest it looks like a giant cannon.

“Pretty sweet, isn’t she?” Wade follows his gaze, grinning.  He looks vaguely unhinged.  “You are one lucky fella!  She’s the height of excitement, has the thrill of launching to the heavens—the very peak of flying fascination!  Why jump off a bridge when I can shoot you straight up into the sky?!  And _you_ , dude, after that crazy shit you pulled, I’ll let you take the first ride for _free_!”

Erik lifts an eyebrow.  It stands to reason that the only other person left awake on this side of the realm is insane.  Still, though…Erik looks back at the cannon.  There are no other ways back up to the main road that he can see, and he can’t afford to spend days trying to scale the rocky cliffs.  If Wade wants to shoot him out of a cannon, he may as well take advantage of it.

“Whaddaya say, buddy of mine?” Wade is practically bouncing around him.  “Wanna give it a shot?”

Erik has a brief moment to consider how ill-advised this probably is, but then he nods.

Wade cheers, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning them around a couple of times.  “Woohoo!  Dudebro’s got it going on!  You’re extreme, man, you’re _wild_.”

Erik extracts himself from Wade’s surprisingly strong grip, and then follows him when he bounds out across the dock towards the house.  He wonders what exactly Wade is doing, but then he realizes that Wade hasn’t stopped talking.

“—out here and opened up this place, it’s called _Wade’s Wacky Watertop Land of Fantastication!_  Isn’t it _great_?  I’ve been hoping for customers for days, man, but I haven’t even seen anyone crossing the bridge in a long time!  It’s like everyone’s decided to take a long nap or something!”

Erik coughs, but Wade doesn’t seem to notice.

“To be honest, man, you’re my very first one!” Wade admits, coming to a stop by the front door of the house.  He turns around, abruptly so serious that Erik nearly feels whiplash.  “So, like, tell all your friends for me, will ya, buddy?  It’d really do me a solid.”

Erik can only nod carefully.  If Wade can really get him back up to the main road, maybe once he’s saved Hyrule he’ll take the children here.  He almost laughs at the thought and how absurd his life has gotten lately.  He recalls the red rupee he found in the Forest Temple and fishes it out of his pocket, handing it over to Wade.  Erik has no use for it himself, and he might as well give a gesture of goodwill to the man who is about to shoot him out of a cannon.  Seems like the right thing to do.

Wade’s grin could rival the sun.  “You’re the best!  We’re gonna be bros for life, I can already tell.”  With a flourish, he pulls open the door.  “Straight in through here, dude!   Oh, and which way do you want me to shoot ya?  Up towards the road, or do you feel like swimming again?”

Erik points up at the road firmly.  He refuses to feel nervous, even though he’s half-expecting to end up splattered across the face of the cliff.

Wade salutes.  “You’ve got it!  Watch your step, man.”

Erik steps carefully over the threshold, ducking low to avoid knocking his head on a piece of metal as he walks into a very small chamber.  Wade slams the door shut and it’s suddenly very dark.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.

“Get ready, dude!” Wade calls from somewhere outside, and Erik hears something like giant metal gears grinding together, the floor beneath him vibrating.  “Three!  Two!”  He’s suddenly bathed in bright light when a section of the ceiling opens with a _clang_.  “ONE!”

The cannon erupts with a deafening bang and Erik is propelled forward into the air, letting out a wild cry of half-terror, half-exhilaration that’s nearly pushed back down his throat by the force of the wind as he shoots through the air, the world around him a blur and then he’s falling—

He hits the ground in a wild spray of dirt, tucking his head and rolling to a stop, slightly dazed.  He lies still for a moment, waiting for the hurt to come, but when it doesn’t he cautiously picks himself up.  He doesn’t seem to have broken anything, and it appears he’s landed exactly where he’d pointed—on the cliff side at the other side of the bridge.  Down by the lake far below, he can faintly hear Wade whooping and cheering.

Charles flickers into view.

Erik scrambles the rest of the way up to his feet, catching the shorter boy up in his arms.  Charles has half a second to laugh delightedly before Erik kisses him, slotting them both back together perfectly.  Charles’ projected form is once again cold in his grip, and it’s like kissing a cloud, but he’s here and that’s all that matters.  Erik can feel him again as a warm presence curling in the corner of his mind as Charles anchors himself to Erik once more.

“It didn’t take me that long to find you, did it?” Charles asks a few moments later, when they’ve broken a little ways apart.  They still cling to each other closely.

Erik shakes his head but recalls his memories of the darkness surrounding Hyrule Castle now, how he’d very nearly been overtaken before stumbling out the gate.  Charles frowns, his grip on Erik tightening.

“Well,” he says with forced calm, “we certainly have our work cut out for us when we return.”

He’s shaken, though, and Erik can see right through him in more ways than one.  He touches Charles’ face gently, slowly swiping the pad of one thumb across the prince’s cheek.  They will burn away the darkness from Hyrule Castle.  They will vanquish it from the entire realm.

Charles smiles softly.  “Of course you will.”

They both jump when a large _boom_ echoes through the valley canyon below, and Erik turns sharply in time to look down and see the smoke clearing from around Wade’s house.  Then he realizes that something is soaring up towards them, rocketing through the air—

Charles gives a cry when the parcel crashes Erik, and while Erik manages to turn it into an awkward catch it still knocks him clear off his feet.  His back hits the ground hard and he lets out a grunt as all the air in his lungs rushes out in a whoosh, leaving him momentarily stunned.  He feels like he’s been shot out of the cannon himself all over again.

“You shot yourself out of that cannon?” Charles demands in disbelief, because of course he latches onto that last thought with the same tenacity that Erik has grown well-used to.  “Erik—that’s—that’s _insane_.”

Erik grins up at him, only a little hazily.

He shifts the parcel off of himself and Charles helps him climb back up to his feet.  It’s oddly shaped, little better than a sack, and upon further inspection it’s actually—

“You’ve got the bomb bag,” Charles remarks in surprise when Erik fishes out what is unmistakably a bomb, “it can hold up to 30—Erik, get rid of it, it’s going to go off!”

Erik tosses the sizzling bomb up into the air and it explodes a second later, the blast ruffling his clothes and filling the air with smoke that quickly fades.  Erik grins again, because having a bag of bombs is going to make life easy.

“Oh, there’s a note.” Charles abandons the flat look he’d been leveling Erik’s way in favor of watching a small slip of parchment flutter to the ground.  Erik picks it up and holds it where they can both read it.  “Dear Dude,” Charles reads aloud, a little bemused, and Erik snorts at the sound of Charles’ voice reading Wade’s words, Charles’ gentler lilt sounding off because of it, “man you were awesome.  That has to be one of the best flights ever.  Here’s a little extra incentive to help you remember our deal.  Stop by again anytime!  Love, your bro Wade.  And oh look, he’s drawn a…winking face.”

Erik looks back down towards the lake and he can just barely make out Wade standing on the edge of his dock, flailing his arms around and waving up at him.

Charles follows his gaze.  “He seems like quite a character.”

Erik huffs out a laugh, raising one arm in farewell to the tiny figure below before he turns away from the cliff.  He tucks both the bomb bag and Wade’s note away.  When this is all over, he’ll remember Wade’s place on the edge of Lake Hylia.  It’ll be the least he can do, seeing as the man has given him two incredible boons in their short time of being acquainted.

Charles is solemn again when Erik faces him.  “The bombs may come in handy,” he admits, “but you’d better reserve them in the meantime.”

Erik steps up beside him, taking his hand.  Charles’ hand fits perfectly in his own, just like how the rest of them always seems to fit together seamlessly.  Ahead of them mountains rise up, tall and foreboding, silent sentinels of the road to the Far North.

“The darkness in the Far North, and then to the west, to the end of the sands,” Charles says quietly, his gaze on the few high peaks still visible above them.  “One thing at a time, I suppose.”  He looks back over to Erik, his smile warm and true.  “Ready?”

Erik takes off at a run, starting up the mountain path.  A hint of a smile plays around his lips in return.  Charles already knows the answer to that question.

He was born ready.


	10. Always more radiant than you

It is late afternoon when Erik emerges from the long mountain pass, the shadows so long that he could nearly believe that night has already fallen if it weren’t for the blue sky overhead.  He follows the road down, the sound of rushing water growing louder and louder until finally he rounds a bend and nearly comes face-to-face with a wall of water that crashes down from high above.

“Yes,” Charles affirms, catching Erik’s question, “it’s the same water from Lake Hylia.  The river comes high up into the mountains and ends up here.  We’re in the Zora’s Domain now.  This is their stronghold.”

Erik edges around the ledge past the waterfall, stepping onto wider, more solid ground.  There is another lake here, not nearly as big as Lake Hylia, tucked in a small valley.  The water is crystal clear and when he kneels to take a drink he discovers that it’s ice cold.

“It’s said that all the water in Hyrule is connected,” Charles says as he watches the spray from the waterfall arc high into the air, “and that the Zora can cross the realm in the blink of an eye without ever having to leave the water.”

Finished drinking, Erik wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.  He’s heard of the Zora before, but the way the stories had been told they’d seemed more like creatures of myth and legend, hailing from times when the Hero had lived.

Then again, if he’s the Hero now…no, he’ll only confuse himself this way.

Charles chuckles.  “The Zora did exist back then, and are very much alive today as well.  If it’s true about the water, I can’t imagine that they’d ever make it as far south as Ordon Village, though, so it stands to reason why you’ve never seen one before.  They appear to like colder water, going by the way your teeth are aching.”

Erik splashes at him and Charles laughs as the droplets go right through him.

He straightens from his crouch, walking further along the lake shore.  For all that this is their domain, he doesn’t see any Zora.  He can make out brightly colored fish darting amongst the boulders littering the lake, scales flashing in the afternoon sun.  Beyond that, however, the lake is silent and empty.

“The Zora are longtime allies of my family,” Charles continues, a little quieter as his eyes scan the lake intently, “but I fear that they too have fallen under the spell.  There.”

Erik’s eyes jump to where Charles points.  The other side of the lake runs right up to a sheer cliff face with no shoreline.  Near the top of the cliff Erik can make out a wide sort of grotto, water trickling down the rock face steadily from within.  If the Zora are sleeping, they must be within the cave.

“You could try to climb up there,” Charles agrees when Erik looks over at him questioningly, “but I don’t see any darkness here.  If the Zora are sleeping, we won’t be able to wake them until we break the spell’s hold.”  He turns, gaze sweeping past Erik.  “We have to keep going.”

The path along the shore of the cold, clear lake runs into a narrow cave, more of a crevice through solid rock than anything else.  But if Charles says that this is the way then Erik doesn’t doubt him, jogging forward to slip through the crack and leaving the water behind.  The sound of the waterfall cuts off instantly, leaving a ringing silence in his ears.

The cave is dark at first, and Erik has to turn sideways at one point to squeeze through.  His shield scrapes loudly against the rock but doesn’t catch and eventually the passage widens out a little.  He rounds a corner and is abruptly blinded by a bright, white light, and he has to shield his eyes with one hand because it’s too much, spots dancing across his vision.

Cold seeps in like poison, and for a moment he can’t breathe.

“It’s alright,” Charles says, “it’s—open your eyes, Erik.”

White.

Erik blinks several times, trying to make out something, anything other than the blank whiteness that stretches out before him.  Slowly, he begins to make sense of things.  He’s standing in the entrance to the cave, looking out across—

“Snow,” Charles says softly, his voice falling flat on the cold, still air, “and ice.”

There is a frozen sea below, visible only in patches where deep snow drifts haven’t covered the surface entirely.  It stretches on into infinity, the gray horizon overhead barely a few shades off from the snow, until land and sea and sky have all melded into one and Erik is certain that if he wasn’t standing he wouldn’t be able to tell up from down.

The air is bitterly, bitterly cold and invades his lungs with the same sharp jabs Erik would liken to a dagger.  He feels creeping numbness and when he looks down he realizes that his boots have sunken down into the snow, cold and crystalline and remorseless for his hot-blooded human body.

“It’s beautiful, in a way,” Charles muses as Erik steps out of the two small holes he’s created, “in a desolate sort of way.”  He gives a small smile at Erik’s eye roll.  “This is the furthest north most people have ever been, you know.  We’re on the edge of the map.”

Erik shifts where he stands, sword chinking lightly in its sheath.  He’s suddenly very aware of how vastly displaced he is—a simple goat herder from the deep south of the realm, now standing in snow on the northernmost edges of the map.  He’s not afraid.

“The White Witch will be waiting for us,” Charles says.  A cold wind picks up at his words, as if mention of her alone is enough for the very air around them to grow even chillier.  Erik’s breath puffs out in front of him.  “Wherever the darkness is, she won’t be far.  I wasn’t ready for her before.  But I think that I can protect you.  Your mind from hers.”

Erik settles a hand on his shoulder.  In the cold, Charles’ projection feels even icier than before and the smaller boy shudders at the touch and what little warmth Erik has left to convey.  In his mind, however, things are warm as they wrap around each other in a mind-to-mind hug that is almost enough to banish the cold of the snow entirely from thought.  Erik keeps his thoughts as warm as possible, recalling the hot summer sun on his skin as he lies out in the goat field, warm summer breeze toying with his hair.

“I still don’t miss Death Mountain.” Charles says, and they share a light laugh as the cold wind dies down.

Erik starts off along the tall bluffs, making his winding way down to the shore of the frozen sea.  The snow is powdery and packed, crunching loudly beneath his boots.  It doesn’t take him long to climb down, fingertips quickly growing numb from when he has to balance himself.  He huffs on them, rubbing his hands together as he steps out onto the ice.

The ice is thick and murky, appearing dirty even if it is remarkably clean.  Erik is unsure whether or not he’s glad that he can’t see liquid water or, more worryingly, what could be swimming in it.  He proceeds cautiously at first, arms thrown out wide and stepping carefully, wary of every little slip his boots make on the ice and sticking to the deep snow drifts when he can, but as he goes he realizes that the ocean is firmly frozen and it will probably take more than one lone traveler to crack the surface.  After that he jogs, keeping his footfalls light and graceful, but makes much better progress.

He follows a rocky coastline, staying far enough away from the jagged slopes of the mountains to avoid avalanches if they were to occur, rock and snow disturbed from their lofty perches by what little noise he makes.  It strikes him that he truly well could be the only one left in the entire world, here in this harsh, frozen hinterland.  He’s felt this way before, surely, during his travels across Hyrule, but even then he was still surrounded by its people, even in slumber.  Here, though, he is the only living thing in vast, white emptiness.

“Not alone, though,” Charles reminds him, and Erik quirks a smile and sends him a warm wave of thought.

Everything is brittle, a false sense of silence that seems ready to shatter at the slightest provocation.  Without even noticing Erik feels himself tensing as he makes his way, waiting for something to happen that will destroy the heady quiet.  The only sound that does beyond his own breathing and footfalls is the wind, a low, eerie moan that rises and falls in pitch.

The coastline begins to curve around, continuing on for as far as he can see, but Erik comes to a stop in front of a section of rock that is smooth and unblemished.  It’s odd, given how rough and craggy all the other rocks are.  He takes out a bomb, the sizzling wick loud in the silence and places it carefully on the ice, backpedalling away just in time for it to go off.

The explosion shakes the ground, and the ice trembles but does not crack.  Chunks of rock are blasted up into the air and Erik has a wild moment of dread—if he starts an avalanche, who knows what’ll happen.  The snow remains firm, only a few drifts of it sliding down, and when the smoke clears there is a path, cutting up into the mountain.

“That was risky,” Charles admonishes, the effect mostly ruined by how relieved he sounds, “but good thinking.  I suppose this is the way we want to go.”

There’s no better alternative besides skirting the mountain range across the sea for what may be forever, so Erik begins to climb.  It’s hard to imagine refined, beautiful Emma coming this way, so far out into the rugged wilderness and leagues away from any sort of civilization.  The cold and ice may suit her, but beyond that…Erik wonders how she likes being shunted to the Far North.

“I remember reading about the Far North when I was younger,” Charles says to fill the silence while Erik climbs.  Erik is grateful.  It almost feels as if the quiet could swallow him alive.  “The castle has an entire room filled with archives.  Apparently once, long ago, the royal family sent an expedition team up here to explore.”

Erik acknowledges his words with a glance, even though he knows Charles can tell that he’s listening by his thoughts alone.  The cold is starting to leach down into his bones, a permanent chill that he cannot escape and his limbs feel stiff and heavy.  It helps that he’s forced to keep moving, climbing up and up and always up, but he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to maintain this sort of pace.

“Not very many of them returned,” Charles admits, keeping pace beside him, breathless only because he has no need to draw breath, “and the few who did were later regarded as insane.  They claimed that there was a monster who lived out here, a giant they called Yeti.”

Erik shoots him a look, and Charles gives a small laugh.

“I know, I know.  Not very reassuring, is it?  But I doubt anything is out here.  I’m half-wondering why Shaw would even send Emma out this far—surely there’s nothing but ice and snow.”  He pauses, and they climb in relative silence for a few moments.  His mind is still warm against Erik’s—the cold cannot reach them there.  “You could be right,” Charles agrees, answering Erik’s silent suggestion, “Shaw very well could have sent her all the way out here only to send _us_ all the way out here and give himself more time.  It doesn’t matter, though.”  The last bit is spoken quietly, but Erik can somehow feel rather than hear the prince’s steely undertone.  “When we come for him, he won’t stand a chance.”

Finally Erik crests the ridge, standing at the very top of the path.  Looking back the way he came, he can see his trail of dragging footprints, markers in the snow that will soon fade.  He’s rather high up, even though it’s somewhat hard to tell with all the different shades of white and grey, but still for a moment he fights back the sensation of vertigo.  He swallows and turns away.

“Found you.” Charles says softly.

The ridge slopes down steeply, giving way to a broad valley below that is surprisingly dotted here and there with tall pine trees.  At the far end of the valley, on the edge of another vast abyss, a cloud of darkness swirls.

“There must be something there, another temple of some kind, for the darkness to be so concentrated on that area,” Charles says.  “Look at that trench, though.  It’s like we’ve left the edge of the map and come to the edge of the world.”

Erik can only agree.  The abyss yawns open like the mouth of the world itself, so vast that he can’t see the other side.  They have come to the end of Hyrule—strange, really, that the boundary is so final.

“That’s still quite a long ways away,” Charles says, sounding a little dismayed as he gazes down the valley.  Erik watches him fail at trying not to glance sideways at him worriedly.  “It’s getting late, too.  It’s cold enough now with the sun still out, I can’t imagine you trying to survive the night out here.  Assuming that there is a temple down there, we either need to either reach it by nightfall and take shelter there, or we should turn back now and try again in the morning.”

Erik lifts an eyebrow at him.  He didn’t climb all the way up here just to turn back now and repeat the process again tomorrow.  Charles makes a face, mumbling about Erik’s stubbornness, but Erik’s attention has already alighted on the tall, gnarled tree that stands proudly on its own a few feet away.  The tree is dead, long since succumbed to the snow, and instead of leaves thick plates of ice hang down from its twisting branches.

Charles follows his gaze.  “Erik.  No.”

Erik grins.

He walks over to the tree, and when he draws closer he gives the trunk a rolling kick, slamming his boot solidly into the wood.  There’s a loud _crack_ and a piece of ice falls down onto the snow, long and flat and perfect.

“You can’t be serious,” Charles protests nervously when Erik plants one foot on the center of the ice, testing his weight.  It doesn’t even threaten to crack.  “This isn’t—please don’t—”

Erik gives him a little wave and a reassuring wink, and then pushes off the snow with his other foot, and very suddenly he is zooming down the slope with the shard of ice as his ride.  He lets out a wild cry as he picks up speed, shooting down through the valley.  Everything has become a blur, the wind whipping past his ears loudly and his face feels frozen but the rest of him is exhilarated, not even Magneta can go this fast and he’s only barely keeping his balance as he glides over the snow—

He shouts, half in terror and half in defiance as he suddenly catches air, and not a moment too soon—he flies over a large crack in the ground, a finger of the trench that had been invisible thanks to the snow bank he’d just flown over.

Erik manages to land on the other side and keep his stance on his makeshift snowboard without losing too much of his momentum, kicking a couple of times with his free leg so that he speeds right back up again.  He’s already more than halfway to the cloud of darkness, and closing the remaining distance fast.

When he’s only yards away, he throws himself off of the ice shard, landing face first in the snow and rolling a few paces before slowing to a halt.  When Charles rematerializes over him, looking torn between relief and indignation, Erik is laughing, heart still pounding from the rush of adrenaline and Charles has no choice but to join in, even if reluctantly.

“You’re mad,” he says, but he can’t keep fondness from permeating his voice as he helps Erik stand.

Erik grins at him again, brushing the snow off his tunic.  They’re right in front of the darkness now, standing on its very edge.  As all the times before, he can’t see anything within its depths, but he imagines that will change once they step inside.

“I’m going to cover your mind with my own,” Charles says, serious again.  “I won’t let her harm you again.”

Erik reaches over to take Charles’ hand.  His fingers are so numb now that he can barely feel Charles, but the motion does get the smaller boy to look over at him, the warmth in his gaze more than enough.

“I hope that I’m enough,” Charles admits, nervous now, “I’m rather new to all this mind business.  Emma, I’m afraid, is a very old and very angry spirit.  But I’m not afraid of her if you aren’t.”

Erik shakes his head.  The White Witch may be able to bring out the darkness within him, but Charles is his light.  With Charles at his side, he is invincible.

Charles cracks a smile.  “I hope so, my friend.  Now…”  He’s quiet for a moment, and then Erik feels him as he overlaps their minds, weaving a strong barrier around them both.  Charles’ touch is warm and gentle, shining brightly in Erik’s mind’s eye.  There’s nothing left at all between them—every thought laid bare.

Erik draws in a breath when he remembers to breathe again.

Charles laughs softly, directly into Erik’s mind.  _My love._

Erik squeezes his hand as he leans down to kiss him, soft and chaste for now, letting Charles’ statement rebound and echo between them and speak for itself.

“Shall we?” Charles asks, a little breathlessly for real this time.

Erik keeps his hold on Charles’ hand as they step into the blackness, a harsh contrast to the world of white.  He’s blinded at first as they step through the barrier and into the dark, the sudden pitch black nearly stifling, but then his eyes slowly adjust and he realizes that there are small, lit torches concealed within the darkness and visible only now that they’ve stepped into its space.

It’s not a temple but a mansion—old and dilapidated, stood proudly on the very edge of the abyss.  At one point, when it had first been constructed, perhaps, it may have been grand and beautiful, but is now more crumbling ruins than elegant estate.  It has several tall, thin turrets that jut out at equal intervals, the tattered remains of flags hanging limply.

“No mention of this was ever made in the archives,” Charles murmurs, looking up at the mansion in awe, “I wonder who built this.”

Erik’s distracted from answering by sudden movement beneath the snow, streaking towards them.  He pushes Charles back and draws his sword just as two white wolf-like monsters burst out of the snow like trout from a stream, their narrow faces contorted with snarls.  The first swing of his blade catches one of the nightmares in the face and it falls with a howl.  Erik bats the second one away with his shield and dives after the first to finish it off, burying his sword in silky fur and the monster dies with a yelp.

“White Wolfos,” Charles calls, encyclopedic as always.  Now that Erik knows he’s the Crown Prince, it certainly makes a lot more sense as to why Charles has so much knowledge about everything.  He is incredibly intelligent—

He has to duck and roll as the second Wolfos lunges at him, snapping teeth missing his arm by millimeters.  It may be best to pay better attention, so Erik refocuses.  The monster has dived back into the snow, tunneling swiftly around him.  Erik pivots, waiting, and then when the Wolfos jumps out again he’s on it in a flash, thrusting forward with his blade and striking the monster clear through the side.  It dies with a howl, erupting into a cloud of black smoke before Erik can even pull his sword back.

“Emma is probably waiting inside,” Charles says softly, stepping up beside Erik as he sheathes his sword.

This much is a guarantee, but neither of them balk from making their way up the brick path towards the tall front doors of the mansion.  They’re made of wood but they seem to have weathered the building’s fall into disrepair rather well, no sign of rot at all.  They climb up a short flight of wide, flat steps and then they’re in front of the doors, level with the huge brass rings that serve as handles.

“I’ve got you this time,” Charles says, reaching up to touch lightly at Erik’s temple.  Erik can feel the spark between them all the way through his entire being, originating at that single point of contact.  “I won’t let her in.”

Erik believes him.  He puts his hand on one of the giant brass rings and just like that, the rest of the world falls away.

 _He may not let me in_ , comes a voice, echoing through his mind, terrible with its certainty, _but you will._

“Erik?” Charles asks beside him, seeing him falter.

Erik pulls open the door and steps inside the old mansion.  It may have been magnificent, once.  What’s left of the carpet underfoot muffles his footsteps as he enters the great hall, evenly spaced torch brackets on the walls illuminating the darkness just a little.  Empty painting frames hang in between, pictures long faded from exposure to the elements.  What was once a grand staircase has collapsed, fallen in on itself and leaving the floor above unreachable, its ornate banister now twisted beyond repair.  There is a hole in the ceiling, dangerously close to where a ruined chandelier hangs, glimmering in the half-light.

At the end of the hall is a chair with a stiff, high back, obviously having belonged to whatever lord held court in this cold, lonely place long ago, but now is the place where the White Witch waits.  She sits still like a statue as they approach, wrapped in voluptuous white furs that cover just barely enough, leaving very little to the imagination.  Her beauty is without flaw, cold and distant as the icy terrain outside and just as otherworldly.

In the flickering light of the torches, her form gleams like crystal.

“They all dream of you.”  Even her voice is cold, if not in outright tone but in the way her voice is both musical yet remote, just in the way her lovely mask is too perfect—the glamor cannot cover the evil beneath.  “All the minds in the realm, crying out for a Hero.”

“Erik _is_ the Hero.” Charles says firmly, lifting his chin.  “He is the one chosen by the gods.”

Emma smiles slowly, eyes distant.  “So, I am allowed to see you this time?  But all the better reason to tear him down, my prince.”

“Erik’s stronger than that.”

“Supposed to be,” Emma corrects softly, mockingly chiding.  “He is _supposed_ to be stronger than that.  But he isn’t.  He’s already failed once, haven’t you, Erik?”

Salty breeze, giant wave, Raven—Erik blinks.

Emma smiles again.

Charles is frowning.  “What are you—”

“You let her drown,” Emma says, and though her posture doesn’t change she still seems to be pressing forward, her words weighing down on him like boulders.  “You remember.  You failed that day, little Hero.  The golden era of Hyrule where the Hero always saves the day ended the moment you watched the Princess drown.”

Erik’s head is reeling and he feels disjointed and lost.  His initial response is to see the truth in Emma’s words, because he knows what he’s seen—every time, a giant wave overtaking him, Raven wrenched away before he can even reach her—but a smaller, quieter part of him that is slowly growing louder and louder is protesting every second of this, vehemently denying that—

“You’re wrong,” Charles says, but he sounds uncertain now, “the story goes that the people appealed to the Goddesses, but they didn’t answer, no Hero ever came—”

“Oh but the Hero _did_ come,” Emma overrides him, and this time her smile is nothing but sickening triumph, “and he failed.  The Princess drowned with the rest of Hyrule, leaving what little survivors left to scrounge a living off rocks, scattered like leaves on an endless sea.”  She’s become more alive now, incendiary with a terrible anger.  “You failed us then and you will fail now.  You’re no Hero, you’re just a fool’s hope, a worthless—”

Erik draws his sword with a loud scrape, lifting it high over his head before slowly bringing it down level in front of himself, pointing it at the witch on her throne.  The sound is harsh in the sudden silence.  Even as he holds himself tense and still, Erik can feel brimming energy rolling through his body, barely contained.  He knows that she is _wrong_ —and so is Charles.

Remember, he wills himself, long-dead memories of another lifetime swirling just out of his reach.  Remember the truth.

“No?” Emma raises her eyebrows, and even that tiny motion is measured and elegant.  She extends a hand, palm up, towards him slowly.  “Shall I show you the truth?”

“You’re not getting in his head,” Charles says, taking a step forward.  “Erik, she’s lying.  The gods didn’t answer the pleas of the people that time.  I don’t know why, I don’t pretend to know the designs of gods.  But that’s not on you.  You didn’t fail anyone.”

“You are tainted with darkness,” Emma whispers, a sneer curling at the edges of her lips, “you’ve seen it yourself.  There is a monster in you, Erik, and he’s ready to come out.”

Erik locks gaze with Emma, holding her icy stare.  She lifts her hand a tiny fraction, inviting.  He takes a step towards her.

“Erik.” Charles’ eyes have gone slightly wide.  Erik can feel him tugging on him, physically and mentally, trying to hold him back.  “Don’t do this.  It’s a trap, she’s _lying_ —”

“Tell me, little prince,” Emma murmurs, eyes glittering like diamonds, “how the sweet sting of betrayal feels.”

Erik stands directly in front of her, still gripping his sword in one hand but holding it lowered now, the point brushing against the ripped carpet floor.  This close, Emma doesn’t even appear human anymore, her features too sharp and perfect.  Her eyes are gateways to bottomless darkness, pulling him in inch by inch.

“Please, Erik,” Charles whispers, “you—I—”

Erik turns his head, looking back over his shoulder at him.  Charles is pale and afraid, stripped of his natural confidence entirely as he watches Erik walk away, utterly human and more beautiful than Emma ever could be for it.  Erik gives Charles a small, rueful smile, and then takes Emma’s hand.

“No!” Charles cries.

“Yes,” Emma says, eyes flashing, her hand like a vice around Erik’s, “let me show you, little prince, just who your Hero _really_ is.”

A bolt of cold lances through him, and Erik hears Charles—funny, comes a distant thought, how Charles is always calling after him, never willing to give up—saying, “I don’t need _you_ to tell me who he is, I’ve followed him here to the end of the realm and he will _always_ be brighter than you, Erik do you _hear me_ —”

 

X

 

He watches Raven drown.

But no, he thinks, that’s not quite right.

 

X

 

His shadow doppelganger snarls as their blades cross, the familiar scrape of metal against metal music to Erik’s ears as he blocks the attack from himself.

It feels different from the times before, he thinks as he spins, knocking the shadow back and lunging after it when it stumbles, black boots skidding as it works to compensate and bring its black blade up between them just as Erik strikes.  The first time they fought, Erik had been afraid.  The second, he had wondered what it would be like to give in, let the darkness win.

Now, the third, he is only calm.

They’re fighting on a beach, sand thick and coarse underfoot.  Waves wash up against the shore and it is night out, except a moon too large to be real hangs low in the sky, casting a bright white light across the shore as its reflection dances on the surface of the water.  It would be serene here, were it not for the struggle he is locked in.

He kicks up sand in a wild spray as he rams himself into the shadow, folding the arm that holds his shield tightly against himself as he knocks into the doppelganger.  With his other arm he slides his blade forward, aiming to gut the shadow in the same motion, only to be blocked when his double brings up its blade at the last second, kicking at him so that they both fall back away from each other.

Erik’s boots sink into the sand as he digs his heels in, turning his momentum forward again and he swings his sword up—

 

X

 

He holds one of Charles’ hands up, fingers clasped gently, while his other arm falls snugly around Charles’ waist, bringing their bodies in to press close.  They dance slowly, ripples of the flat water surface spanning out around them as they rotate on the spot.

Water is falling up, slowly, one drop at a time, glowing with light that shimmers through the sea hanging over their heads, but Erik only has eyes for Charles.

“I see now why you took her hand,” Charles whispers, blue eyes illuminated by the water and the light and Erik is breathless, “you don’t believe either of us, do you?”

Erik gives his hand a gentle squeeze.  Their steps don’t falter but they speed up, twirling across the surface of the ocean, lost in the current of each other.

“I asked you once if you were afraid of the dark,” Charles says.  They brush through the floating water drops, which only serves to shatter them into hundreds of smaller drops, leaving behind a trail of blurry light in their wake.  “You told me you weren’t, and I said that I wasn’t either, but—”

 

X

 

—and their blades crash together again, his arm rendered numb as the shadow bears down on him.  They both slam their shields up, bouncing off each other’s with a loud crack.  They exchange a flurry of blows but try as he might, Erik can’t gain the upper hand.

The shadow spins with a hiss, and Erik drops and rolls to the side to avoid decapitation, ending up in a crouch.  His enemy bends its knees and jumps, bounding up into the air far higher than a normal being could move—still in his crouch, Erik cranes his neck back—and its black blade flashes down in a blow like a hammer.

Erik lifts his sword and straightens to meet the shadow head-on, and when their swords collide there is a bright flash of—

 

X

 

“—if you’re afraid, then you don’t have to pretend.”  Charles shakes his head, eyes wide and imploring.  “Not for me, Erik.”

Erik smiles.  He’d been afraid at one point.  He can’t remember when he stopped.

He knows it has everything to do with Charles.

“Everyone has a bit of darkness inside them,” Charles says softly as they spin, “it’s only human.  That’s what makes us all so wonderful, I think.  Our different shades.”

They come to a stop, standing in the middle of golden mist that slowly drifts upwards, each tiny speck of light reflected in Charles’ eyes a million times over, so it’s like peering down into the universe as Erik holds his gaze.

How can he ever be afraid when he has Charles?

Charles studies him intently for a moment but then finally returns Erik’s smile gently.  “You really aren’t afraid.  _Courage_.  Of course.”

Their position has left them pressed close, so it’s no stretch for Erik to lean his forehead down against Charles’ and breathe in because here at least, in this strange dream world, Charles is solid and—in a sense—real.

Charles chuckles, all of his worry gone.  “If you’re not afraid, then it’s time—”

 

X

 

—light so bright that Erik yells and squeezes his eyes shut even as he feels his doppelganger crash into him with a snarl.  They fall to the sand in a tangled heap and Erik struggles to untangle himself but it’s still so bright and he can’t see—

The light condenses into a bright ball, a miniature sun that blazes without heat, and Erik blinks rapidly as spots dance across his vision, still splayed out on his back in the sand.  The shadow is a few feet away, writhing in the face of unrelenting light and of course it is.  It’s burning.

Erik sits up, scrambling back up to his feet because this could be his one chance to catch his enemy off guard, but he barely makes it a step before the light soars over to him and to his shock, disappears into his pouch.

Now that the moonlight is the only thing left illuminating the beach again, the shadow rolls to its feet with an ugly sound, red eyes glinting.

Erik looks back up in time to block the shadow’s first attack with his shield, sidestepping and thrusting forward with his own blade.  The shadow twists sideways, sword dragging down on Erik’s shield, and Erik steps forward to follow through, sword arcing around in a graceful curve.  For a moment he thinks that he’s going to finally land a hit but the shadow ducks, dropping down to the sand and kicking at Erik’s legs, knocking him to the ground.

Erik hits the ground hard and then rolls to the side when the shadow smashes its sword down onto the sand, missing Erik’s legs by centimeters.  It rears back for another attempt and Erik throws his shield up, shouting in pain as the sword stroke falls like a hammer striking an anvil, heavy and nearly wrenching his arm out of its socket.

The shadow presses down on him, throwing its full weight behind its sword and Erik’s arm begins to quiver.  Desperate, Erik kicks out with one foot and while his enemy stumbles back, off-balance, he rolls up to his feet, swinging his sword forward and their blades clash and catch and the hilt is ripped out of his hand—

 

X

 

“—to let go.”

Erik lifts his head, jarred by the words.  He’d been subconsciously expecting the same as before— _time to wake up._   This deviation from what he knows—or is it what he _wants_?—throws him off, and, more importantly, he doesn’t know what Charles means.

“Emma’s trying to get in,” Charles says softly, reaching up to trace Erik’s temple.  He’s already let go of Erik, and Erik’s hold on him is the only thing keeping them together.  “You may have opened the door for her, but I’m not going to let her in.”  He smiles grimly.  “She’s not going to give you the truth.  You have to find it yourself.”

Erik blinks.  He’s not sure how he’s supposed to look for something that he’s not even sure actually exists.  As the legends go, the Hero is reincarnated when needed—the last Hero, then, was the same as him, but not _exactly_ him.  It’s making his head spin.  He doesn’t know if he even has the memories to search.

Charles’ smile grows a little more gentle.  “You are your own past, present, and future.  You know _yourself_ , Erik, and as the Hero, you can remember if you so choose.  You just have to let go.”

If he lets go, though, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to find his way back.  Erik frowns slightly, gripping Charles a little tighter where he holds him.  He doesn’t want to be lost.  No truth is worth that.

“Oh, darling,” Charles whispers, warm and fond, “I found you out of a sea of minds the first time I reached out.  I’ll always find you.  I won’t lose you.”  He draws his hand away from Erik’s temple, and Erik feels him shifting, ready to step back.  “You can let go.  There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Erik trusts Charles.  Charles won’t lose him.  Charles won’t let him drown.

He lets go—

 

X

 

—and sails through the air, spinning, to land in the sand several feet away, far out of reach.  Erik throws up his shield at the last second, using it like a battering ram to knock them both apart and sends them both sprawling.  Anything to put distance between them.

The shadow jumps back up to its feet, red eyes glittering.  Erik rises slowly, holding his shield at the ready.  His doppelganger stands between Erik and his sword, wearing a thin smirk as it twirls its own sword absently.  There’s no way it’s letting him past.  Not without cutting him to pieces, anyway.

Erik steps sideways but the shadow mirrors him, keeping itself directly in front of him.  It’s only a matter of time before it grows bored of waiting for him to make the first move and attacks, and Erik might be able to put up a good resistance for a few seconds with only his shield but in the long run—well.

He needs his sword.

The shadow leans forward, standing on the balls of its feet, eyes narrowed.  Erik can try knocking it over again but he has a feeling that it’ll be ready for that tactic.  He needs something to distract it—ah.

His bow.

Erik backs up a tiny bit, masking his movements with a few steps to the side as well so that the shadow focuses on staying even with him rather than on how he’s putting a little more distance between them.  He needs to drop his shield to get his bow and quiver out.  He’ll have to be fast.  As soon as he creates the opening the shadow is sure to attack, and it’ll only take a second, maybe two, for it to be on him.

He needs to have his bow out, quiver on, arrow notched, aimed, and fired all before it reaches him.  Right.  He can do this.

Erik stops moving, and for a long, suspended moment they both stand very still.  He shifts his arm, slowly guiding it out of the leather straps of his shield.  He plans a mental route for his hands to his pouch.  Bow and quiver are near the top.  He shouldn’t have to dig.  He should grab the bow with one hand and the strap of his quiver with the other, it’ll be easier to swing it up over his shoulder that way.  Then all he has to do is grab an arrow.

He drops his shield.

The shadow lunges forward instantly with a snarl, sprinting across the sand but Erik’s already yanking his bow and arrow out of his pouch, swinging the quiver up onto his shoulder and he reaches back for an arrow, pulling one out, but there’s a bright, blinding light that comes with it, making both of them cry out and even as he squints Erik nocks the shining arrow and pulls back the string and fires—

 

X

 

—and immediately he plunges down into the ocean beneath their feet, dropping like a stone into immeasurable depths.  He has a split second glimpse of Charles, still standing on the surface and silhouetted by the light above, reaching down after him with a gentle smile, and then he’s gone from view as Erik plummets deeper, falling into the crushing dark.

He’s been holding his breath, but his lungs are burning and he kicks and struggles—he needs to get back to the surface, he needs _air_ —but he can’t escape the pull downward.  He holds his breath for as long as he can, lungs aching, but eventually screaming instinct takes over and he coughs, inhaling—

 

X

 

—the arrow straight and true, straight into the shadow with another burst of light.

The shadow freezes mid-leap.  The arrow sticks out of its chest, still glowing brightly.  As Erik watches, light begins to spider web across the shadow’s form, the cracks growing larger and larger as the darkness begins to burn away. 

The shadow opens its mouth and lets out a long, wild scream that makes the hair on the back of Erik’s neck stand on end, and then it erupts in one last bright flash of light, scoured away, and now Erik can hear Emma screaming—

 

X

 

—water as it floods into his mouth, and he braces himself for the pain he imagines must come with drowning, but nothing happens.  He’s not drowning.  He’s breathing.

He realizes that he’s squeezed his eyes shut, so he opens them.  He’s no longer plummeting and instead he drifts, sinking down in a strange sort of half-light, light fracturing through the water at crooked angles, coming from…below him?

A small stream of bubbles escapes his lips, and instead of floating up they trail down.

 _Down_.

Erik flips himself over and begins to kick, pulling himself up—down but now up?—through the water towards the light, which grows brighter and brighter and he thinks he can see the surface—

 

X

 

—long and loud, her cry echoing the shadow’s, and Erik drops his bow down into the sand to cover his ears with a yell of pain as his head twinges painfully, Emma’s scream reverberating through his entire being.

He doesn’t realize that he’s been moving until a wave soaks his boots and he realizes that he’s stumbled down to the ocean, and everything is still so bright and loud and he’s slogging out into deeper water and then he suddenly pitches forward face-first into the water and is knocked over by a wave, inhaling a lungful of salty water that has him choking, scrambling back up to the surface—

 

X

 

—where he breaks into fresh air.

 

X

 

“See, Emma?” Charles says.  Erik can hear the smile in his voice.  “ _Always_ more radiant than you.”

“He is nothing,” Emma whispers, “compared to what he _was_.”

 

X

 

Erik floats on his back in an endless blue sea.

The sky is clear of clouds, making the sun harsh and relentless but Erik closes his eyes, soaking in the warmth.  It feels good on his skin.  The bone-deep chill he’s had since he first set foot in the snow is finally gone.

A gentle splash makes him open his eyes again, righting himself so that he’s treading water instead of floating.  He’s never been in water deeper than his chest his entire life but swimming comes naturally.  As if he’s been doing it all his life.  Or in another.

A small, red boat sails across the waves, gliding towards him.  There is a sail, three golden triangles sewn into the rough canvas with uneven stitching, and as the boat nears him the sail folds down, slowing the boat’s momentum until it comes to a neat, drifting stop beside him.

“Hello, Hero.”  Raven grins at him, one hand on her hip.  “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

She is different from all the versions of her that he’s met before.  She’s closer to his age, now, and is nearly brighter than the sun with how vibrant and full of life she seems, bracing one booted foot on the gunwale of the boat and leaning down over the side to offer him a hand.

“Come on,” she says, her eyes the same color as the sea, “grab on.”

Erik takes her hand, and with a strength that surprises him she hoists him up into the boat.  He splatters onto the deck with a fair amount of water, so they spent a few moments bailing the excess out and situating themselves so that they both fit—it’s a small vessel.

“Here,” Raven says, drawing up the sail again, “let’s sail.”

The canvas unfurls and catches the breeze instantly, and with a small jerk they’re off, the bow slicing through the waves.  In all directions is endless sea and sky, but Erik’s not worried.  They’ll be alright.

“So,” Raven says after some time has passed.  Erik has no way of knowing if they’ve gone anywhere, or if they’re just sailing in circles.  It doesn’t matter.  “You must have some questions.”

Erik looks over at her.  She stands in the stern, leaned casually against the wood.  One tan hand rests on the rudder, holding it steady.  She doesn’t look like a princess, but there’s still no mistaking her for who she is.

“Unfortunately, I can’t tell you.”  Raven smiles ruefully.  His expression must fall, because she’s quick to add, “Not here, at least.  You’re the Hero, without a doubt, but.  Well.”  Her smile becomes gentler, more private.  “You’re not _my_ Hero.”

Of course.  His past self.  The Hero who had answered Raven’s call all those centuries ago.

“Yes.”  Raven nods.  “The Hero did come,” she tells him softly.  Her eyes are warm, just like Charles’.  “He didn’t abandon the people to their fate.”

Erik feels a hot wash of relief so intensely that his knees go weak, and he has to grip the edge of the boat to remain on his feet.  Raven gives a soft laugh but also another nod in understanding, watching him with her keen eyes as he recovers.

Off in the distance, a low rumble of thunder echoes across the waves.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can say here.” Raven says briskly as lightning flashes.  A vast thunderhead is building up over the ocean, rising high into the sky.  A storm is brewing.  “Go to the west.  Walk until you can’t anymore.  That’s where I’ll be waiting.”

The wave swells are growing taller, and the red boat pitches back and forth.  The wind has picked up and the sail creaks, blown fully open and straining at the worn rope that tethers it to the mast.  Erik doesn’t think that it’ll last a minute in a storm the size of the one Raven is sailing them into.

“Nasty, isn’t it?” Raven calls over the sound of wind and water.  Erik gets a face full of sea spray when he turns to look back at her again, the salt stinging in his eyes.  “The last time I saw him was in this storm.  But that’s a tale for later.  You’ve got to go.”

Erik nearly flies off the boat when they crest a huge wave, water slapping at the hull.  Everything is becoming disorientating and confusing, Raven’s words running together in his mind.

“Don’t worry about me!  The truth may vary but this ship always carries me safely to shore,” she calls as another flash of lightning leaves him momentarily blinded.  “Go west!  You won’t be alone, someone will guide you.  Go west and walk until you—”

The rest of her words are drowned out by a ferocious blast of wind, and this time Erik does fall over the side, down into the rough, churning waters.  He’s tossed head over heels for a few wild moments, and by the time he struggles back up to the surface Raven has sailed on, her red boat climbing up the side of a huge, mountainous wave.

Still, she turns back to face him, and raises her arm in goodbye.  “You know some call you the Hero of Time,” she shouts, and somehow, even from here, Erik can see her wink, “so don’t be late!”

Erik is yanked down below the surface again, and the last thing he sees is Raven’s golden hair, bright against the dark of the oncoming storm.

 

X

 

When he wakes, he sees Charles.

Charles turns his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling up.  “Welcome back, Erik.”

Erik sits up slowly.  The floor is cold and hard, the chill permeating his bones as if it had never left.  Perhaps it hadn’t.  It’d all been just a dream, after all.

Charles stands in front of him, his back to Erik while he faces Emma, every line in his body defiant and strong.  Emma still presides in her high-backed chair, but whereas before she had been regal and imposing, she now slumps in defeat, her glamor all but gone.

“Do you see now,” Charles says to Emma, and although it’s not even close to a shout it still carries the same impact and Emma flinches, “who he _really_ is?”

Erik climbs up to his feet, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Charles.  Emma gazes at them both, her eyes impenetrable, and says nothing.

“Erik,” Charles says without looking away from her, “draw your bow.”

Erik pulls his bow and quiver out, slinging the later on over his shoulder while the former he holds loosely at his side.

“Draw an arrow.”

Erik complies, reaching back and grabbing onto the first shaft his fingers find, pulling the arrow up and out, and he’s suddenly blinking at a bright, white light.

“You’ve got the Light Arrows,” Charles says quietly as Erik holds the arrow up, “the light of justice will smite darkness—and evil.”

Emma smiles faintly.  “Only _you_ ,” she says, bitter but not angry, “could reach into darkness and pull out light.”

“Anyone can do that,” Charles says, giving Erik a small smile, brushing their minds together with a flicker of warmth before his gaze sweeps back to Emma, “all they have to do is try.”

Emma laughs, soft and short.  “You’re just the same as she was.  Always wanting to believe in the _good_ in people.”

“It’s miraculous what you’ll find,” Charles answers, though his voice holds no bite, “when you give people a chance.”

“I’ll leave the chances to you.”  Emma draws herself up, sitting straight and proud in her chair, lifting her chin.  “Aim straight and true, Hero.  I won’t be so lenient if you miss.”

Erik looks at Charles, who gives him a small nod.  Erik lifts his bow and nocks his shining arrow, just like in the dream, and slowly draws the tip up to point at the White Witch’s chest.

“Will you—”  For the first time, Emma’s voice falters.  She refuses to look at either of them.  “Will you tell her.  For me.”

“You could always tell her yourself,” Charles says softly.

Emma looks at him sharply, too quickly for Erik to determine her expression, and then she looks away again.  “Do it,” she orders tersely.  When Erik hesitates she turns back, rising up out of the chair with her face twisted in terrible anger, screaming, “ _Do it_!”

Erik releases his arrow on reflex and it pierces Emma instantly, freezing her in place.  Her entire outline begins to glow, brighter and brighter until she’s no longer discernible and Erik lifts a hand to shield his eyes.  Then the light winks out and Emma is gone.

“Well done, Erik.”  Charles says, solemn.  “Victory is yours.”

It does not feel like a victory.

A solid piece of golden puzzle hovers in midair, floating down to Erik when he reaches for it.  When his fingers close around it, he is startled to discover that it is warm.

“You’ve got the third and final piece,” Charles says, and this time he’s able to smile, “congratulations, Erik.  Congratulations, you’ve done it.”

Erik drops the hand holding the golden puzzle piece down to his side and he reaches for Charles with his other.  Charles comes willingly, flowing into Erik’s grasp so that they can kiss, slow and sweet, Erik’s lips already too numb from the cold to be bothered by Charles’ own chill.

“Better put that one with the other two,” Charles says when they pull back, though they stay close, “you’ll need all three together very soon.”

Erik slips the golden piece in where he’s kept the others, three solid weights in his pocket.  West, now.  They need to go west.

“The darkness has been lifted from here,” Charles says.  “I bet the Zora are waking.”

Erik looks up.  Sure enough, he can see patches of gray sky through the scattered holes in the roof of the old mansion.  The darkness is gone.  The Far North is empty again.

“Emma has left us a parting gift,” Charles recalls his attention.  Erik follows his gaze down to the floor in front of the chair.  A patch of light forms a perfect circle, glimmering softly.  It looks exactly like the warp point that Riptide had left behind in the Forest Temple.  “I think we can trust her.”

Erik nods slowly.  He can already guess where this warp point will take them.  He offers a hand to Charles, who accepts with a small smile.  There’s no reason for them to linger here any longer.

He slides his fingers through Charles’ and together they step into the light.


	11. We could ask for no one better

Hot, dry heat blasts him instantly, the harsh change from freezing cold to searing heat making him feel faint and dizzy at first.  Erik sucks in a breath of air, which does little to help.  The sun overhead is bright and relentless—it’d been nearly nightfall when he’d discovered the old mansion in the snow, did he lose an entire night?

“The Gerudo Desert,” Charles says beside him.  His hand in Erik’s nearly feels like ice.  “Vastly unexplored—but from what we _do_ know, vastly empty.”

Erik shades his eyes with his free hand.  The horizon is a shimmering line as heat rises in blurry waves, making the desert look like an actual sea of sand.  He can’t imagine any sort of landscape that looks less inviting—even less so than the snow of the Far North.

“Irene told you to come here,” Charles says, tearing his eyes away from the dunes to look up at Erik solemnly, “and if I’m not mistaken you were just told to come here again.”

Erik meets his gaze.  Charles has probably seen his memories of his dream, so he’s not surprised that the prince knows.  In any event, he’s right.  Irene has said that across the sands is a place where he will be tested—whatever that means.  And Raven has said to walk until he can’t anymore—whatever _that_ means.

“Hopefully they mean the same thing,” Charles says with a rueful smile.  He worries his bottom lip between his teeth.  “It’s hot, Erik.  I may not be able to feel it myself, but I can feel it through you.  Be careful.”

Erik bumps their shoulders together, giving him a small nudge.  It’s scorching, but it’s no worse than Death Mountain.

“Yes.” Charles says dryly.  “And that turned out so very well, didn’t it?”

Erik snorts.  He’ll take a big, empty desert over a volcano any day.  Behind them is fertile, green Hyrule—an oasis that rests on the edge of the world.  Erik has no idea what waits for him in the desert, but he’s willing to do what must be done.  And he has Charles.

“Always,” Charles assures him, and Erik has heard no promise better than that.

He kisses Charles briefly, a brush of soothing cold against his already-chapped lips.  Then he turns, facing west, and begins to run.

Erik uses the sun as his guide, following its arc through the cloudless sky.  He keeps a steady pace, focusing on the rhythm he has created between his legs and his breathing, cycling hot air through his lungs.  Running across the sand is no easy task; his boots slipping a little with each step, sliding on the ever-shifting grains, and he knows that he’s using far more energy than if he were running across grass or dirt.  He gets a sharp, biting stitch in his side but he ignores it, pushing through the pain and never slowing his gait as he runs across the desert, footsteps fading behind him in the hot wind.

All the while, the sun beats down.

His sword and shield chink lightly as he runs, the metal broiling on his back.  Erik ignores it.  It’s hot.  Everything is hot.  Sweat rolls off him, dripping slowly, though it dries nearly as soon as it forms and in the back of his mind he knows that he’s losing precious water this way but there’s nothing to be done.  He has no way to replace it and he can’t turn back now.  He’s already been running through this featureless desert forever, it seems.

Beside him, Charles gives him worried looks every so often but remains silent.  His projection jogs alongside him, effortlessly keeping pace.  Unlike Erik’s laborious breathing, Charles’ breath is even and quiet, as he’s not actually running or there at all.

Erik appreciates the company, though.  It’s good motivation.  Irene said that he would be tested, but Erik has a feeling that the test has already begun.  He will not fail.

He’s not sure how long he runs.  Twice he thinks he sees something, far off in the distance, but as he gradually draws closer the shapes wink out of sight.  Mirages.  He loses count after that, automatically dismissing anything he thinks he sees.  There are many false pools of water that dry up as he approaches and only serve to remind him how thirsty he’s become.  His throat feels like it’s been coated with sand, gritty and dry.  He’s been swallowing his spit when he can, but now he doesn’t have any left.

It is hot.

“Erik,” Charles says.

Erik ignores him.  It’ll take precious energy to turn his head and see what Charles wants.  He just has to keep going.  Keep going.  Keep going.  Keep—

“Erik,” Charles says again, “ _look_.”

At first he thinks it’s another mirage, mostly because everything else so far has been but also because of the sheer absurdity of it.  An old ship sits half-buried in the sand, lopsided.  The wood has been bleached nearly white by the sun, and the winds have scoured away everything else, leaving behind the barest skeleton of the ship.  The mast is broken, snapped off and leaving behind a jagged post that rises high into the sky—the only reason Erik knows what he’s looking at is real is because he reaches the slender shadow of the post first, and it actually does block out the sun.

There’s a large hole in the hull, opening what was once presumably the lower deck of the ship.  It’s empty, filled with nothing but sand, but most importantly right now, it is shade.

“Get in the shade,” Charles says, “you need to stop for a bit.  Please.”

Erik doesn’t slow his pace, running straight up to the old ship.  He half-suspects that this is all some kind of strange dream, because what would the ruins of a ship be doing out in the middle of the desert?  It feels so far removed from reality, a strange relic of an old, forgotten time that someone has carelessly misplaced, though why they would bring it this far out here in the first place is beyond him.

He slows to a halt, right in front of the hole in the hull, which turns out to be a horrible mistake—as soon as he stops, the world starts spinning and he feels sick, swaying on his feet.  He can feel his heartbeat pounding throughout his entire body, and his blood is a loud rush in his ears.  The stitch in his side is nearly unbearable, and he’s nearly doubled over before he realizes it, groaning.

“You’re delirious,” Charles says somewhere distantly, but there are two hands on Erik’s shoulders, guiding him down.  “Lie down in the shade, Erik, here.”

Erik half-crawls, half-falls into the hollow underbelly of the ship, and there’s enough wood still to create a large-enough patch of shade.  Charles helps him flop down onto his back, and Erik wonders who is breathing so harshly, like they’re dying—and then he realizes that it’s himself.

“Here.”  Charles crawls on top of him, settling his body over Erik’s and in his feverish state Erik compares it to being covered by a thin, frozen blanket.  Charles’ projected body is cold against his and practically weightless.  He scoots up so that his face is level with Erik’s, pressing their foreheads together and reaching up with icy fingers to press his hands against Erik’s neck and throat, right against his pulse point.

Erik shivers once, coughing weakly, but manages to lift one arm and sling it across Charles’ back, holding onto the prince.  Slowly his breathing evens out, but he can still feel his heartbeat pounding like a steady drum, vibrating through his body.  The world has stopped spinning but he keeps his eyes closed, focusing on the cold points where Charles touches his skin directly.  He’s terribly thirsty, and he swallows dry on reflex, wincing.

“Oh darling,” Charles says, “just rest.  We have—we have time.  We’re going to stay here a bit, and you’re going to rest.  You’re going to rest, and you’re going to feel better.  Be better, Erik, please.  Please.”

Erik’s heart rate is slowing now too, finally, and gradually he doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmingly overheated.  He shifts a little beneath Charles, shivering again, so the prince shifts, moving down a little so that his head is pillowed on Erik’s chest, staying sprawled on top of him.  Erik keeps his hold on him, shifting his hand so that he can toy with Charles’ hair—or the impression of it, at least—and for awhile they lie still and quiet together in the shade, Erik warming Charles up while Charles cools him down.

The stitch in his side still hurts every time he breathes, but it’s something for now that he can ignore.  Water would help soothe it, but he can’t even recall what water tastes like given the state of his mouth and throat right now.  His limbs feel heavy and weak, muscles aching, but it helps to have Charles there, lying on top of him and breathing in time with him.

“You’ve come so far,” Charles murmurs, and Erik wishes that he was solid, awake and here with him in person rather than just a wisp of idea, “and you’ve done so _well_.  You’re incredible, Erik.  Whatever waits for you out here, I know you can overcome it.  You’re just—”  He stops, and Erik runs his fingers through his hair gently.  “I love you.”

Erik cracks a small smile, even though it probably cracks his lips in the process.  It should feel unbalancing, how much he feels for this boy-prince who came into his life so abruptly on the wings of dreams and darkness, but it’s not.  It feels right.  _Charles_ is right.

He has indeed come a long way from a small goat ranch in Ordon Village, but Erik wouldn’t change that.  He wouldn’t change anything.

Charles laughs, vibrating against his chest.  “I wonder if the goats miss you.”

Erik opens his eyes, giving Charles’ hair a light tug as he turns his head to the side, looking out of their tiny shade oasis.  As cozy as it is now that he’s not three seconds away from collapsing, they can’t stay here forever.  This will have been for nothing, though, if he gets up now and ends up straining himself back to the brink.  How to gauge, though, whether enough of his strength has returned?  Maybe it would be better to wait for night to fall, and travel then?  But he has no way to know how far the temperature drops in a desert once the sun has finally vanished from the sky.  He could very well end up freezing to death instead.

And water.  He needs water desperately.  He can deal right now, but eventually—soon—it’s going to become vitally urgent.

Something is coming towards them.

Charles lifts his head.  “What?”

Erik stares intently at the horizon.  Sure enough, there is a small black dot that grows larger by the second as it comes towards them and the old ship, unmistakably real.  He can’t tell what it is at first, but whatever it may be he has no intention of being caught lying down on his back.  Charles slides off of him and then helps him sit up, leaned back against an old beam of wood—standing still feels like it’s a little out of his league, much to his chagrin.

“I think it’s a person,” Charles says uncertainly, crouched beside him.  “Who else in the world could be all the way out here?”

Erik watches the approaching figure.  Sure enough, it looks more and more like a person the closer it gets.  He—or she?  Erik can’t tell—is headed directly for the ship, and he considers drawing his sword for a moment but decides to refrain.  He’ll give whoever they are the benefit of the doubt, even though he’ll still be ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

Whoever they are, they’re also wearing the strangest garb Erik has ever seen.

He—or she, Erik still can’t tell—is covered completely from head to foot in dark fabric, despite the fact that they’re in the desert.  As they draw closer, Erik realizes that it’s more like armor than cloth—form-fitting, obviously made custom for their lithe frame.  They don’t appear to be carrying any sort of weapon that Erik can see, but that’s hardly comforting, so Erik stays warily tensed as they approach the ship even though he’s very aware that if it does come down to a fight, the odds are stacked well against him.

The newcomer halts in the mouth of the hole in the side of the ship, and for a moment they all stare at each other.  Erik can’t make out their face very well on the account that they’ve taken a long strip of cloth and wound it around their neck, lower half of their face, and then also their forehead and hair, so that a curtain of bright red hair sticks out, leaving only their golden eyes visible.

Erik’s mind must still be a little addled from the sun, because he honestly can’t tell whether they’ve used paint or if their skin is actually blue.

“Who are you?” Charles asks.

The newcomer has been staring primarily at Erik, but now their gaze flickers to Charles, eyes crinkling slightly in what must be a smile.  “Mystique.”  Her voice is rich and deep, not at all what Erik was expecting—then again, he’s not even sure what he’d been expecting.  She takes a step into the shade, pulling out a skin pouch.  “Water.”

Erik’s reaching for it before he even realizes it, and her eyes crinkle again as she steps closer and hands it down to him.  He screws the cap off quickly and brings it to his lips and yes—drinks deeply.

“Slowly,” she cautions, settling down in front of him with her legs crossed, watching him.

Erik obeys, or at least as much as he can.  He’s desperate for water, but he doesn’t want to make himself sick.  He drinks more slowly now, and then pauses—what if she needs some?—but she waves a dismissive hand.

“Drink all of it.”

“Thank you,” Charles says to her fervently as Erik drinks, “so much.”

She shrugs.  “Foolish to come out into the desert without provisions.”  Her tone could be biting, but it isn’t.

“We, um.”  Charles looks abashed.  “We were sent here.  By magic.”

“Magic.”  She sounds amused.  She doesn’t say anything more, instead returning to watching Erik drink.

“We’re looking for—well, we’re not sure,” Charles admits.  “We’re looking for _something_.  Is there anything out here at all, do you know?”

Mystique leans over and raps her knuckles against the wooden hull.  “Big ship,” she says, sounding amused again.  She doesn’t outright laugh, but her eyes seem to be.

“Well yes, we know that,” Charles says, even as he smiles slightly.  “I meant something else.  We’ve only been told to go until he can’t walk anymore.”  He nods to Erik, his smile turning rueful.  “And as you can see, we’ve reached that limit.”

She grins, then, full and outright—Erik can see it beneath her wrappings.  “He can still walk.”

Erik drains the last of the water, lowering the empty skin slowly.  He should have conserved the water, but oddly enough he’s not thirsty anymore.  Neither is he tired or hurting—the stitch in his side is gone.  He feels like he could stand again, without the world spinning dizzily.

He feels _ready_.

Mystique grins again, nodding in satisfaction.  “Come,” she says, pushing herself up to her feet, “I will show you.”

Erik stands, strong and limber, offering Charles a hand up as well.  It’s hot, but the heat doesn’t seem to matter anymore.  It’s strange, but good.

“Show us what?” Charles asks, keeping his hold on Erik’s hand.  He sounds polite enough, but Erik can tell that he’s slightly wary.

“Do not worry, Charles,” she says, surprising them both, and later Erik will realize that her voice has grown gentle, “follow me.”

She ducks back out of the ship’s shade, her footsteps light.

Charles turns back to Erik.  “What do you think?”

Erik considers him.  He’s genuinely asking, waiting patiently for Erik’s verdict.  They have no idea who Mystique is or what her intentions are, but she has probably just saved Erik’s life.  He can’t shake the feeling that she’s also somehow vaguely familiar, as if he’s met her before, sometime long ago, but try as he might to remember, nothing’s ringing any bells.  He feels that he would remember someone with a blue face, so maybe he’s wrong.

“I feel that too,” Charles admits, “but I can’t remember either.  Maybe we will in time?”

Erik shrugs.  Maybe it doesn’t matter who she is.  She’s offering to help.  They can see where she wants to lead them, at the very least.  They don’t have much else to go on at this point, so maybe she can give them a clue.

And Raven had said that someone would guide them.

“Where are you taking us?” Charles calls again, his eyes on Erik.

“West,” comes the answer from outside the ship, amused again, and they share a slow smile.

Mystique is waiting for them as they emerge from the ship, arms loosely folded.  Her golden eyes flicker up and down them both, assessing.  Erik looks back at the ship entrenched in sand.  It must have been magnificent when it was whole, and had water to sail on.  Whoever it belonged to must have been sad to abandon it.  Or perhaps no one had been left at all.

“Come,” Mystique says again, “time to go.”

She takes off at an easy, loping run so Erik darts after her, falling in beside her.  Her movements are different from his own and it looks like an odd way to run, but she also appears to be having a far easier time across the sand so Erik mimics her.  It takes him a few paces to get it right, but once he does he’s not surprised that it works, his footfalls lighter in the sand.

They run west, leaving the old ship behind as it slowly fades into the horizon, lost in a sea of sand.

The sun is descending from the sky now, slowly but surely, and Erik wonders if they’re actually racing to see if they can beat the sun to the edge of the world, and then perhaps jump on it when they get there.  They run without pause, swiftly and steadily, so it may very well be true.  Unlike before, Erik does not grow tired or thirsty.  It’s still unbearably hot, but he feels removed from it; it’s only a mild annoyance that he’s vaguely aware of, like a fly buzzing in his ear.  He wonders what was in the water Mystique has given him.

Magic, she’d said, amused, and maybe it’s not far off from the truth.

The landscape of the desert doesn’t change, always a vast, endless plain of sand with a few rolling dunes here and there, but Erik senses a difference as the day wears on.  It’s gradual, but something is different.  Mystique is silent as they run, but he sees her glancing at him out of the corner of her eye every now and then, as if waiting for a reaction.  On his other side, Charles doesn’t seem to notice anything, his projection jogging along equally quietly.

As the sun begins to sink in earnest their shadows stretch out long behind them and the sky fades from blue to purple, while brilliant streaks of orange and pink awash the horizon.  Erik doesn’t notice at first but the heat is receding with the sun, and with it the difference that has been gnawing at Erik for some time now grows more pronounced—but what is it?  The air?  It has a different sort of quality to it that Erik can’t place, and nor can he tell if it’s because of the temperature drop or not.

The bottom of the sun is nearly touching the horizon when they come up on a huge sand dune.  Mystique bounds up the slope, sand sliding down in her wake, so Erik follows suit a few paces to her left, struggling up the hill.  His leg muscles are burning, and for every step forward he seems to take two backwards, but finally he reaches the top where Mystique waits, stepping up onto more-level ground with something akin to relief.

And then he stops, staring, unable to believe his eyes.

“ _Oh_ ,” Charles breathes in awe.

The ocean is calm at dusk, waves lapping gently against the shore, a steady back-forth of rushing water.  The water extends out for as far as his eyes can see, probably even further, and Erik is struck immediately by how tiny and insignificant he is, standing beside water of immeasurable distance and depth.  It’s different from the enormity of the ice and snow in the Far North, and even the sands of the Gerudo Desert he’s just crossed—those, at least, he is familiar with because all this time it’s been land: land, land, endless land.  But here is the ocean, vast enough to swallow Lake Hylia several times over, reflecting the sunset so that sea and sky are bleeding into one, just like in his dreams, only this is here and real—the ocean.  He’s looking at the _ocean_.

A cool breeze picks up, brushing against his face, making his hat flap lightly and of course—it’s salty.  That’s what he’s gradually noticed as they’d drawn closer and closer: the tang of salt in the air, blown in from the sea.

“Incredible,” Charles says.  Both of them have yet to tear their eyes away from the water below.  “The Great Sea.  It’s real.  Erik, it’s _real_.”

Erik finally manages to look away, gaze shifting to Charles.  He has open wonder on his face, enthralled, and Erik finds himself equally as captivated by Charles as he was by the sea.  Struck by sudden inspiration, he grabs Charles’ hand and leaps off the top of the sand dune, laughing at Charles’ cry of surprise as he barrels down the slope and drags the prince along with him.  They reach the bottom, and even Charles is laughing breathlessly now as they sprint across the beach, the sand more compact here, and run straight into the waves with a huge splash.

They wade out into the cool water up to their knees, and Charles can’t feel it so Erik feels it for him, letting him experience secondhand the pull of current as the waves wash back and forth, the gritty feeling of saltwater on his skin, the light splash of sea spray from the wind.  Charles holds his hand, smiling softly, and trails his other hand down through the water, watching his fingers pass through.

“Brilliant,” Charles says, looking up at him, and for a moment Erik can imagine the reflective glow of bioluminescence in his eyes.  “Until you can’t walk anymore—because here, you’d have to _swim_.  We’re here, Erik.  We made it.”

Erik laughs at the absurdity of it.  A silly riddle.  But they were here now.  They’d made it to the sea, with Mystique as their guide.

He looks back over at her.  She stands on the beach, just far up enough as to where the waves don’t quite reach her, arms loosely folded as she watches them.  He can’t tell from here but it looks like she’s smiling, golden eyes glinting in the fading light.  They— _he_ —wouldn’t have made it without her.  He’d still be lying in the bowels of the abandoned ship, dehydrated and delirious, strength slowly ebbing away as he succumbed to the heat.

Mystique catches his gaze, and tilts her head side, motioning up the beach.

“What is that?” Charles asks.

There is a long wharf of boulders extending out from the beach into the sea, out to some kind of platform that stands above the waves.  There’s a tall stand on top of the platform that Erik can see, where a giant bell hangs down, swaying gently in the wind but not enough for it to make a sound—not yet.

“The Hero’s Bell,” Mystique says as Erik and Charles wade back out of the surf and slog up the beach towards her.  “Anyone can ring it, if they made the journey.  But it’s only going to answer one person.”

“You should ring it, Erik.” Charles says.  “You’re the Hero.  It will answer you.”  He pauses.  “Answer him with _what_?”

“Who could say?” Mystique says, but she’s smiling again.  “The bell has been here for a long time.  If you ring it, you will be the first Hero ever to do so.”

Erik blinks, looking back at her sharply, because that means—

“Come,” she says, already turned away as she walks up the beach, “it’s time.”

Determinedly, Erik follows after her and Charles goes with him easily.  The three of them make their way up the beach, picking their way across beds of shells.  The sun dips well below the horizon now, the vivid colors of dusk fading as night falls.  By the time they reach the beginning of the wharf, where they can see the water churning wildly around the rocks, the sun has disappeared entirely beneath the waves.

“Erik, look,” Charles says in delight.

The waves rolling up against the shore are glowing.  Tiny sea creatures that shine with self-made light toss and turn with the water, speckling the waves all along the beach.  He can imagine what it would look like if all the tiny lights began to float upwards, like tiny fallen stars retaking their place in the sky above.  Erik tears his eyes away to meet Charles’ and together they share a smile.  It’s just like in their dreams.

The stars are coming out.  They spread across the sky in a brilliant sweep of light, the constellations coming alive as their reflections dance on the surface of the ocean.  Erik helps Charles climb up onto the first rock, stepping after Mystique, and Charles offers him a small smile and then lights up, glowing with a soft golden light—the very same he’d glowed with on the first night Erik had officially met him, when he’d saved Erik’s life—that illuminates the dark, bright and beautiful.

They pick their way out across the rocks, stepping carefully.  The further they get from the shoreline, the quieter it becomes, the sound of waves fades away into the background so now they only hear an occasional splash.  The base of the platform has a small set of stairs that they clamber up, stepping out onto the flat surface.

Mystique’s golden eyes reflect Charles’ light, luminous.  “Ring the bell, Hero,” she says, “remind Hyrule of a time long gone by that should have never been forgotten.”

Charles gives Erik a small nod of encouragement.  Erik squares his shoulders, moving up to the tall bell stand.  The bell itself is now a dark silhouette against the starry sky but he can still see a thin, tattered rope that flaps lightly in the wind.  He settles both of his hands on it and gives a light, experimental tug—it’s heavier than he thought.  Erik grips the rope tightly, and then pulls down on it with all his weight.

The bell rings loudly, the sound vibrating in his bones and echoing out across the ocean for miles and miles.  Erik pulls the rope again, following the sound with another ring, and then for a third time, so that the three tolls echo for long after he’s let go of the rope.  They stand silently, listening to the fading rings, waiting for something to happen.

The ocean pitches and roils, water frothing, and Erik watches in amazement as something begins to rise up from the seawater at the end of the platform.  It comes to a rumbling halt when it’s level, water running down off of it in streams, and he realizes that it’s a door.

Three golden triangles stacked together to form one large triangle are imprinted on its stone surface.

“But—where does it lead?” Charles asks, startled.  From their vantage point, they can see behind the doorway—nothing but empty air.

Mystique is smiling.  “Why not open it and find out?”

Erik takes a step towards the door, and then is momentarily blinded when something in his pocket begins to glow brightly.  The three golden puzzle pieces he collected from Janos, Azazel, and Emma float up into the air in front of him, and as he watches they slot themselves together, connecting seamlessly into one golden triangle.

“The Triforce of Courage,” Charles says, “the true mark of the legendary Hero.”

The golden triangle shrinks, and then zips down to Erik’s hand, pressing against his skin.  He holds his hand up and watches as the emblem sinks down into the back of his hand, forming a tattoo—the full three-triangle mark of the Triforce traces out across his skin, and the bottom right triangle glows, showing his mark.

“You’re lucky, Hero,” Mystique says, lightly teasing, “many in the past had to collect eight pieces, not three.”

Erik jolts in surprise when the small, velvet pouch Charles had given him in the castle bursts out of his pocket, glowing with the same golden light.  The velvet peels away and the light flies straight to Charles, sinking into his projected form and making him shine brightly for a moment.

Charles holds up his own hand with a small smile.  “Now we match.”  His hand bears the exact same mark as Erik’s, only on his the bottom left triangle glows bright.  “The Royal Family of Hyrule have long been keepers of the Triforce of Wisdom.  As the next in line for the throne, its power belongs to me now.  The triangle on top is the Triforce of Power,” Charles adds quietly, lowering his hand, “I’m sure you can guess who holds it.”

Erik doesn’t need to guess—he already knows.  Shaw.  Charles himself has said that three of them are bound together, their fates aligned.  If they each hold a piece of the Triforce, Erik can imagine their destinies being twined no tighter.

He steps up to the door, and the Triforce symbol on the stone begins to glow, resonating with the one on his hand.  He pushes the door open, moving the stone with a heavy scrape.  It opens to reveal a shimmering portal, beyond which he can see a grand entrance hall—much like Hyrule Castle.

Charles gives a sharp intake of breath.

“Will you come?”  Mystique steps up to the edge of the portal.  “Are you ready to face your test?”

Erik nods.  He’s ready.

To his surprise Mystique bows to him, long and low, and when she straightens she’s smiling again.  “Courage,” she says, and then she turns and steps through the portal, disappearing in a bright flash of light.  He looks in at the grand hall, but he does not see her.

“Shall we go, then?” Charles asks.

Erik takes his hand.  They both still glow with their respective Triforce marks, and for a moment they stand together, side-by-side on the edge of the Great Sea, a place that only existed in old legends not so long ago.  But here they are.  Together.  Erik would rather be with no one else.

Together they walk forward into the portal, and step back in time.

 

X

 

 

X

 

 Erik wakes, yawning and stretching.  He doesn’t remember falling asleep but he feels extraordinarily well-rested, especially given the fact that he’s sleeping on the floor.  Charles is with him, his head pillowed on Erik’s stomach, which is odd because Charles technically can’t sleep in his current form, unless—

“Oh,” Charles says, blinking, “the rules must not apply here.  Or we’re _both_ dreaming.”

They climb to their feet.  They’re high up on a balcony, looking down at the grand entrance hall.  It’s unmistakably the exact same as Hyrule Castle, without a doubt, save for two things—there is no stained glass window depicting the legends of old, and in the center of the room there is a tall, raised dais upon which a stone statue of the Hero stands, sword lifted high.

“Strange,” Charles says in a hushed voice, “I wonder where we are.”

“Hyrule Castle.” They both jump at the sudden voice, turning quickly.  Mystique has appeared, and as they watch her form flickers and blurs, changing into someone infinitely more familiar.  “ _Old_ Hyrule Castle.”

“Raven,” Charles breathes, eyes wide.

Raven smiles.  She’s dressed in her flowing pink gown, rectangular sash hanging from her belt, stitched with the red, winged crest of Hyrule with the golden Triforce in the center.  “Hello little cousin.  I’m glad you could be here.”

“It’s an honor.” Charles says fervently.  “I—I’ve—”  He flushes.  “I’ve read so much about you.”

“In the form of legends only,” Raven says, though her gentle tone takes away the reprimand.  “You’re here because you wish to know the truth.”

“Yes.”  Charles nods.  “I would like to know.  But that’s for Erik.  He has more right to it than I do.”

Raven gives a soft laugh.  “Very good.  Though I’m sure Erik won’t mind if you listen.”

Erik shakes his head, taking Charles by the hand.  He hasn’t come all this way by himself—he’s come with Charles.  That isn’t about to change.  Raven seems to understand, because she merely gives him a wry look.  Erik’s attention is mostly on Charles, who is beaming up at him, slightly flushed again.

“Then I will tell you,” Raven says, stepping over to lean against the bannister, “but first, before I do…Erik, I believe there’s something you have to do, isn’t there?”  Heavy footsteps echo through the hall from below with the clank of heavy armor.

Erik nods slowly as the footsteps grow closer, a long shadow falling across the floor below.

“Defeat the nightmare,” Raven says, gaze unblinking, “and solve the puzzle.  Think you can manage that, Hero?”

A tall monster strides into view, passing beneath them as it walks towards the pedestal.  It stands like a man, wielding a broadsword that looks twice as wide as Erik is in one hand, with a huge, heavy shield in its other hand.  It is clad in multi-layered plate armor that looks nearly impenetrable, along with a knight’s helm, complete with a tall, black plume that arches over the top of its head.

“Darknut,” Charles says in a low voice, gripping the railing tightly.  “Erik, be careful.”

Erik hoists himself up and vaults over the railing, jumping down to the ground floor.  He lands on his feet in a half-crouch, straightening slowly and drawing his sword at the same time.  The Darknut turns around at the scrape of metal on leather and for a strange, still moment Erik can feel its gaze pinned on him from beneath its closed visor and they stare each other down.  Now that he’s level with it, its broadsword looks as if it’s nearly as tall as he is.

He twirls his own sword, the metal humming in the air, and waits.

The Darknut advances steadily towards him across the hall, its heavy boots clanking with every step.  Erik tenses, bending his knees.  If there’s one thing he’ll have an advantage in, it’ll be speed—all that heavy armor and shield, along with its giant weapon, will only serve to slow it down significantly.

Perfect.

It pulls back its arm and swings at him, broadsword falling down in slow motion to Erik’s eyes, and Erik leaps out of the way, rolling to the side.  The sword’s impact with the ground is harsh and jarring, cleaving a huge gash in the floor.  It’ll be in his best interest to not so much as get clipped, then.

Erik circles the Darknut slowly, his enemy rotating on the spot so that they remain facing each other.  His nerves are alive with the adrenaline of the fight pumping through his body, but his head is level.  He’s come a long way from the first time he’d fought monsters back in Ordon Village.  This monster is far more formidable than Bokoblins, but Erik is calm.

He’s not even afraid.

The Darknut takes a step forward and swings its broadsword at him again and Erik jumps back, just barely out of reach.  When the sword crashes into the ground he leaps forward with a cry, jumping on the blade and using it as a springboard, propelling himself forward, just as he’d done against his own shadow.  He flips up into the air above the Darknut’s head and as he flies over he slashes at its helm, once, twice, and then hits the ground behind the monster, rolling back up to his feet.

The Darknut is still howling in pain and rage so he attacks from behind, raining heavy blows against its back where its armor appears to have a weak spot.  The Darknut whirls, dragging its broadsword with it, and Erik hears Charles cry out from somewhere above when the flat side of the blade catches him in the side, knocking all the air out of his lungs and sending him flying.

Erik crashes into the ground several feet away, stunned for a moment.  He’s lucky that the Darknut had still been reeling from his attack and hadn’t caught him with the edge of its blade instead—he’d be in two pieces on the ground now.

“Erik!” Charles shouts over the dreadful sound of heavy boots approaching steadily, and Erik figures it’s about time for him to get up now.

He picks himself up off the floor as the Darknut looms over him, scrambling to his feet in time to avoid another deadly swing of the broadsword.  This time the Darknut swings twice, metal armor screeching in protest, and Erik is forced to throw up his shield to take the brunt of the second blow, caught by surprise.  The force of the blow sends him flying back again, his head cracking against the hard floor when he lands.

Gritting his teeth, Erik picks himself up yet again.  He can’t afford to let this draw out for too long.  He risks taking his eyes off his enemy for a glance up—Charles is watching him intently, still gripping the railing tightly, while Raven’s gaze is cool and assessing, her shade—or apparition, or memory, or _whatever_ she is—unmoved by the battle.

This time he doesn’t wait for the Darknut to come to him—he takes off at a run, charging towards his enemy with a loud cry.  It swings at him and Erik ducks, darting around the long reach of the broadsword and getting right up close and personal with the Darknut, leaping up to slash at its throat.

His blade rebounds wildly off the Darknut’s thick armor but Erik attacks again, hammering against the metal as hard as he can.  The Darknut stumbles back, its broadsword of no use for close quarters, and tries to throw up its own heavy shield to bat him away.  Erik drops, sliding down between its wide-set legs and bounding up to his feet behind his foe, twisting around to smash his blade into the Darknut’s back.

Its armor crumples, falling off completely and hitting the floor with a resounding crash and exploding into a cloud of black smoke, and even its helmet disappears along with the rest.  Erik backs up instantly as the Darknut turns to face him, dressed only now in hooded chainmail, face still hidden from view.  As he watches, the Darknut tosses its broadsword and shield aside, hurling them against the far wall.  Then it draws a rapier from the thin scabbard at its belt and attacks.

Erik barely gets his shield up in time, caught slightly off-guard by how much faster the Darknut moves now.  Without its heavy armor it moves nearly as fast as he does.  They exchange a flurry of blows, and while Erik ruthlessly goes on the offensive the Darknut matches him, blocking every twist and turn of his blade with its own, and when it begins to pressure him in turn it’s all he can do to keep from being sliced open.  It’s very similar to fighting his shadow, only this enemy has a significant height advantage, as well as strength.

Erik knocks its sword away with his shield, extending his arm out as far as he dares to hold it at bay while he goes in for the kill with his own blade.  The Darknut wrenches its sword back and their blades clash, pressing against one another with all of their respective strength.  They both swing their arms out at the same moment, pulling apart, and Erik lifts his sword horizontally to block another fierce downward swing, shoving the other blade away and jumping back a few feet for a respite.

The Darknut follows after him, not even appearing to be tired, so Erik keeps backing up, shield in front of him, eyes darting to either side to make sure that he’s not about to run into something.  At the edge of the room are the same tall, thick pillars lining the hall, so he stops and waits for the Darknut to catch up with him and swing, and then ducks behind the nearest pillar just in time.

The Darknut’s sword hits the pillar with a loud thunk, and bits of stone fly everywhere as the blade embeds itself deeply.  Erik sprints around from the other side, taking advantage of the opening to thrust his blade into the Darknut’s side, ripping through its chainmail.  The Darknut howls, stumbling back from the pillar and its sword, and when Erik yanks his sword out and thrusts again the monster topples over, collapsing to the ground and rolling onto its back.

Erik grips his sword with both hands and leaps into the air, angling his blade straight down.  With a yell he lands directly on top of the struggling Darknut, slamming his sword down through its chest in a final, killing blow.  The nightmare flinches, growing still and stiff, and then erupts into a black cloud of smoke and is gone.

Erik straightens, panting.  By the time he’s gotten his sword back in its sheath and his shield slung onto his back, Charles and Raven have joined him.  Charles flings his arms around him immediately and Erik pulls him close, letting the prince reassure himself that Erik is still in one piece.

“You almost _weren’t_ ,” Charles mutters into his shoulder, squeezing him tightly for a moment.  “I can still picture that sword slamming into you.  I thought there’d be blood everywhere.”

Erik lets a hand slide down Charles’ back comfortingly, because it hadn’t been that bad.  He’s feeling a little sore and winded but otherwise he’s unharmed.  And he’d won.

“Of course you did,” Charles says, letting go of him and stepping back, “you’re my champion.”  He’s grinning, albeit reluctantly, but it’s good enough.

“My story is but one of the legends of which the people speak,” Raven says suddenly, and they both look over at her, growing solemn.  She has adopted a storyteller’s voice, her tone low but rich, and her eyes faraway as she remembers a time long since past.  “Long ago, there existed a kingdom where a golden power lay hidden.  It was a prosperous land, blessed with green forests, tall mountains, and peace.”

Erik feels himself being lulled into memory as Raven speaks.  She could be describing the Hyrule that he knows, but she is not—she is describing _her_ Hyrule.

“But one day a man of great evil found the power and took it for himself.”  Raven begins to walk slowly towards the center of the room.  “With its strength at his command, he spread darkness across the kingdom.  But then, when all hope had died, and the hour of doom seemed at hand…”

Erik and Charles have already mirrored her, pacing along with her towards the pedestal in the center of hall.  Raven comes to a stop, looking up at the Hero raising his sword high, a small smile crossing her face.  Erik’s gaze drifts down to the pedestal itself, where the Triforce has been carved into the marble.

“A young boy clothed in green appeared as if from nowhere,” Raven says, and Erik presses his palm flat against the center of the symbol.

The statue and dais tremble with a loud rumble, and then slide backwards across the floor revealing a hidden staircase that descends down into the dark.  Charles starts in surprise but Erik looks over at Raven and she gives him a satisfied smile, nodding.

“At least, so the legend goes.  That is what the people believe, and thus the story has been passed down through the generations as such.  But that is not the truth,” Raven says softly as the three of them begin to step down the stairs.  “The Hero did not appear from nowhere.  We tried to appeal to the gods for help but they did not answer, so we summoned him ourselves.”

“We?” Charles asks.

“Myself and the castle’s best mage,” Raven answers, “Lady Emma Frost.”

Erik blinks in surprise, and Charles’ mouth opens slightly in shock.

“And the Hero did come,” Raven continues softly, “and he was divine.  He slew all the monsters and fought back the darkness.  He proved himself to be the true Hero and assembled the Triforce of Courage, bearing it with honor.  And then it came time for him to face Shaw.”

They reach the bottom of the stairs and emerge into a circular room.  Although they must be deep underground at this point, there are still stained glass windows lining the wall and Erik knows instinctively that they each depict a scene from the story Raven tells.  In the center of the room there is a sword, resting straight up and down in the ground as if plunged there much like how Erik had plunged his own blade into the Darknut’s chest.

His eyes lock on the blade, and he feels a stirring in the room.

“The Hero and Shaw met for battle at the top of the tallest turret of the castle,” Raven says, coming to a stop where she stands in the entrance to the room.  “It was part of Shaw’s plan, to gather the three holders of the Triforce there—Courage, Wisdom, and Power.  When all three are gathered it is possible to summon the Triforce itself, and he who touches it first will be granted one wish by the gods.”

“What did he wish for?” Charles asks quietly.

Raven gives a faint, crooked smile.  “Shaw knew that the Hero would defeat him.  So he decided that if he couldn’t have Hyrule, no one could.  He wished for Hyrule to be buried beneath the sea.  And so, it began to rain.”

Erik tears his eyes away from the blue hilt of the sword in the center of the room, recalling the tempest from his dreams.

“Yes,” Raven says softly, “just like that.  The Hero defeated Shaw in battle, but by then it was too late.  The sea rose up and swallowed Hyrule whole.  So many of my people were lost, drowned.  We barely made it onto a boat ourselves with Lady Emma.”

“She said that you drowned with Hyrule,” Charles says.

“The story is not over yet,” Raven replies gently.  “Even as the last of Hyrule sank beneath the waves, still the storm did not cease.  And then I realized why.”

Erik feels a chill run down his spine and struggles not to shudder.

“I was just like you, Charles,” Raven says, “the last of my direct line.  Hyrule was ruled by the Darkholmes, then.  And you know as well as I do what is said about the Royal Family.”

Charles’ face is pale, his eyes wide.  “We _are_ Hyrule,” he whispers, “we are the heart and soul of the realm.”

Raven nods.  “And Shaw wanted Hyrule to drown.”

“No,” Charles says, sounding pained and shaking his head, “no.”

“The Hero and Emma tried to convince me that this was not the case,” Raven says gently, “but the storm was only growing worse and worse.  What little remained of my people would not last much longer, and I knew that there would still be hope for Hyrule if they were allowed to live.  So I gave myself to the sea.”

Charles reaches over and takes Erik’s hand, though his pained gaze never leaves Raven.  Erik isn’t sure who is gripping who more tightly as they share their sorrow for Raven’s unthinkable sacrifice.  Just the thought of losing Charles like that has Erik’s heart in his throat.

“The Hero did not fail in his duty,” Raven says, looking to Erik, “it was in fact quite the opposite.  He protected my people and ushered them to a new land.  The very land you now call Hyrule, if I’m not mistaken.  He saw that my cousins, the Xavier’s, ascended the throne.”  She gives Charles a small nod.  “He was the brightest hope, the shining light.  _My_ champion.”

“And Emma?” Charles asks softly.

“Never forgave him for it,” Raven answers with a sad, wistful smile, “never forgave him for losing me.  Her bitterness consumed her, for I believe she partially blamed herself as well.  That is why you know her best as the White Witch.  She let her anger at the Hero, at the world, rule her.”

“She wanted us to tell you—” Charles pauses, and swallows, “—that she was sorry.”

“I know she is,” Raven answers gently, “though I have never blamed her.  Not once.”

Silence falls between them.  A deeper part of Erik, one that he is vaguely aware of but feels nonetheless, is relieved at the truth.  He had not failed.  He had helped rebuild Hyrule, even after it had been lost.  His grip on Charles’ hand slackens, and slowly Charles’ does as well.  They share a look, long and meaningful, and Erik knows that this time things will be different.

He will not lose Charles.

“Now, Erik,” Raven says, drawing them both back to the present.  She lifts an arm, gesturing towards the sword in the center of the room.  “Do you know what that is?”

Erik has known from the second he laid eyes on it.  The sharpened edge.  The winged blue hilt.  The golden stone inset that gleams in the dim light.  The sword calls to him, every single fiber of his being ready to answer.  Of course he knows.

It is Charles who answers out loud.  “The Master Sword.”

“The sacred blade which evil ones may never touch,” Raven says, “only one worthy of the title of Hero of Time can pull it from the ground.”

Erik barely hears her.  He approaches the sword slowly, eyes fixed on the blade.  It must have been resting here for hundreds of years but it shows no sign of rust or decay, gleaming as if still freshly polished.  He grips the hilt with both hands.  It fits perfectly.

He pulls upwards and the sword remains still at first, held fast, before he hears a small click and then the length of the blade slides up out of the ground fluidly in one smooth sweep.  Erik drops one hand down to his side and holds the blade up with the other, lifting it high into the air.

“The Master Sword,” Charles says as the light blazes off the silver blade, “the Blade of Evil’s Bane.  Even Shaw cannot hope to stand against you now.”

Erik lowers the sword, giving a few lazy slashes through the air in front of him.  It feels like an extension of his arm, twisting with every subtle turn of his wrist.  It is longer than his Ordon sword, and feels both lighter and stronger all at once—it was forged by the gods themselves.  He twirls the blade intricately, letting it travel across the space in front of him with a small rush of air, and then decisively shields it with a firm scrape.

“Bear it well, Hero,” Raven says as Erik shrugs the sheath carrying his Ordon sword off.  “Let the light shine bright for Hyrule and burn the darkness away.”

Erik holds the sheathed Ordon sword flat across his palms.  The sword has been through a lot with him, and has been a piece of home all along the way.

“Hold onto it,” Charles says with a small smile.  “You’re still planning on returning it, right?”

Erik smiles back with a soft chuckle.  That’s right.  He’d technically stolen it.  Alex’s father must have noticed by now the broken wooden one Erik had left in this sword’s place on the wall in their home.  He tucks the sword carefully away for safekeeping down in the recesses of his bottomless pouch, and then dons the Master Sword.  Its sheath falls neatly into place across his back and Erik rolls his shoulders.  There.

“We go back to the castle,” Charles says determinedly, “and we face Shaw.  It’s time to end this.”

Raven watches them both, her face serious though her eyes are gentle and kind.  “You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?”  She crosses over to them, deftly taking Erik’s hand.  It is then that Erik realizes her hands are cold, like Charles’—she is nothing but a projection.  It takes all of his effort not to start in surprise.  “Being the Hero is no easy burden.  You’ve sacrificed a great deal for all of our sakes.  Some things, even, you are not yet aware of.  But Erik.”  And now she smiles, soft and warm.  “We could ask for no one better.”

Erik turns their hands so that he is holding hers, and then bows low to her.  He may be imaging it but he feels the same, deeper part of himself from before give a soft sigh before fading into nothing.

“Leave this place,” Raven commands as Erik straightens, their hands falling away, “as soon as you step back through the portal, Shaw will know that you carry the Master Sword.  It calls to him much as it does you, though its song for him is very different.”  Her eyes flick to Charles.  “He will begin to take action.”

Charles swallows, but holds her gaze.  “He’ll wake me.”

Raven inclines her head.  “His goal all along has been to gather the three Triforce pieces once again.  He already holds you, and once he feels the Master Sword’s presence he will know that Erik holds the third.  He’ll be waiting for you, Erik.”

Erik clenches his jaw as he nods.

“You must not allow him to summon the full Triforce,” Raven says, quietly urgent, “but if he does, you _must not_ allow him to be the one who makes the wish.  Remember whoever touches it first will be granted their wish.”

“If he does—”  Charles begins hesitantly.  “If he _does_ , what do you think he’ll wish for?  The same thing as before?”

Raven shakes her head.  “I could not say.  Whatever it may be, it will only be towards the destruction of Hyrule.  That is why you must not allow him to succeed.”

“Why does he hate Hyrule?” Charles asks softly.  “For centuries now.  His hate is endless.”

“Why does darkness hate light?” Raven answers gently.  “Perhaps a great injustice was done to him long ago and his grudge does not fade.  Perhaps there is no reason all, and he only wishes to drag us all down into his spiral of death and destruction.  I do not know.  But I do know that while the Hero still stands, there will still always be hope.”

Charles is silent for a moment, eyes distant.  Erik can feel him turning everything over in his mind, trying to understand such an incredible hatred.  Erik knows that he never will.  Charles has never known hate, and Erik will do everything in his power to keep it that way.

Finally Charles blinks, eyes clearing.  “Thank you, Raven.”  He folds into a graceful bow.  “For everything.”

“Your people need you,” Raven says, stepping aside for them to pass, “go now, and may the winds of fortune ever be at your backs.”

They leave her standing in the center of the room, the Princess of Hyrule from a time long past, watching their backs as they ascend the stairs.  Erik wonders what will happen to her, to this place, once they leave.  Raven didn’t seem sad.  Only quietly glad—relieved.

“She can finally rest,” Charles says as they emerge out into the grand entrance hall of the castle.  When Erik looks closely at the edges of the room, color appears to be leaching away, fading to black and white.  This place won’t last long after they leave.  “She can rest assured that Hyrule is in good hands.”  He gives Erik a smile.  “Has always been in good hands.”

They cross the hall, shoulders brushing.  The two large doors that mark the entrance to the castle are flung open wide and a bright, shining light pours in.  Neither of them hesitate, striding right up to it and stepping through.  Erik closes his eyes when it gets too bright, taking Charles’ hand in his to make sure that they stay together.

He opens his eyes again when he feels a salty breeze and hears the quiet lapping of the ocean water.  He and Charles stand on the end of the platform, looking towards the expansive beach.  The sky in the east is pink with dawn, the stars overhead slowly beginning to fade.  They’ve lost another night.  Erik yawns.  He feels like he’s just woken up.

A low rumble comes from behind them, and they both whirl around in time to watch as the doorway they’d come through sinks back down into the sea, burying Old Hyrule beneath the waves once and for all.  The water bubbles for a few moments, waves frothing wildly, and then gradually calms as they watch silently, leaving not a single trace.

Charles turns towards him, blue eyes clear in the morning light.  “Erik, I—”

Erik starts when his image flickers out, automatically lunging a step forward when Charles disappears into thin air.  He looks around desperately even as he realizes what has happened.  Shaw is on the move.  Charles has been woken up.

Shaw is waiting for him.

Grimly, Erik picks his way back across the rocks to the shore, leaving the platform with the bell standing empty.  He’ll have to cross the desert again.  It will be long, without the company of Charles or Mystique—Raven—but he can do it.  He knows what to expect now, though he’s still not entirely looking forward to it.  He straightens his back as he steps back onto the sand.  He’s the Hero.  He’ll do his duty.

A shrill whinny cuts through the air suddenly and Erik looks up, startled.  On the very top of the dune that separates the beach from the desert, Magneta rears up on her hind legs, mane and tail billowing in the breeze.  Erik breaks into a smile.  He’ll have to thank Raven—Mystique?—somehow.

He climbs up the slope, struggling through the sand, but it’s certainly worth it to have Magneta greet him, bumping her soft nose against his chest and whickering softly as he strokes her.  He’s incredibly glad to see her again.  She appears to return the sentiment, mouthing gently at his hand for a moment as she flicks her ears, big brown eyes peering at him.

Erik runs a hand along her neck and then swings himself up into his saddle, picking up the reins.  He takes one last look out across the ocean, soaking in the sight so that it is permanently ingrained in his mind, preserved in blue and endlessness.  The sea is incredible and majestic, but Erik knows that this will be the last time he ever sees it.  That’s alright, though.  He can think of a few other things just as beautiful.

He turns Magneta east, back towards home, towards Hyrule, towards Charles—and with that thought in mind it’s not hard at all to urge Magneta into a gallop and leave the sea behind, racing towards his destiny.


	12. Stay with me

Erik rides.

Magneta is tireless as she gallops across the sands, and they fall into synch with each other, moving together.  The desert flies by in a blur and Erik keeps them pointed east, chasing the sun down as it slowly ascends into the sky.  He looks for the old, abandoned ship but he doesn’t see it—not surprising, but it also makes him wonder if it was really only a dream.

The Master Sword is a long line across his back.

The mountains of Hyrule rise up over the horizon, too large to be mirages.  As they approach they only grow taller, and soon Erik can also make out the green of the lowlands below.  It only serves to spur Magneta on and she speeds up, hooves thundering over the sand as they draw closer and closer.

It’s a jarring difference when her hooves hit dirt, reentering the realm just south of the great basin containing Lake Hylia.  Erik guides her to a small stream that trickles towards the lake, slowing her to a halt and dismounting with a groan, stretching his legs.

They both drink deeply but Erik doesn’t allow them to linger long, climbing back into the saddle and urging her on again.  He finds small road that cuts along a ridge, angling gradually to the southeast, and assumes that it will lead him to Castle Town.

He’s had a lot of time to think about what he’ll do once he’s facing Shaw, but he can’t think of much else besides the fact he knows that it will come down to a fight.  His sword skills have grown exponentially ever since he first picked up the wooden sword, but Shaw is an ancient power who has been through countless battles.  It’s not going to be an easy fight.  Even with the Master Sword there is still a chance that he will fail.

Erik grits his teeth, gripping the reins tightly even while making sure not to pull.  He will not fail.  The last Hero hadn’t failed, but he’d still lost the princess.  Erik will do one better—he will not lose Charles.

Castle Town comes into view when they round a hill and Erik recognizes the north gates of the town.  The castle itself is still shrouded by a huge, black cloud of darkness that looms over the town, holding its inhabitants under the spell of sleep.  Erik runs Magneta right up to the gates before he dismounts, giving her a solid pat as he gazes up at the castle.

Magneta snorts, nudging him.  She is magnificent, hardly tired from their journey across the desert and part of the realm.  Erik gives her a fond stroke and then leaves her to graze, slipping in through the gates and into the town.

The streets are empty and silent, just as before.  His footsteps fall loudly on the cobblestone as he follows the street’s gentle curve, following the tall wall of the castle grounds around until he reaches the front entrance gates.  The gates stand open, now, but the darkness has created a solid wall that seals the way shut.  Like before, when Erik tries to touch it the wall sparks with dark energy and he yanks his hand back.

Erik draws his sword.  The blade seems to give off a faint glow, especially when he holds it close to the darkness in front of him.  He swings it back and then cleaves the blade down against the darkness, letting out a cry of defiance that echoes up and down the street.

For a moment everything is still, and then the darkness begins to spider web, little cracks growing larger and larger as they travel upward, splintering out and connecting and growing and—

The darkness shatters with a loud crash, fragments blowing up into the sky only to be incinerated by the light of the sun, and just like that the darkness is gone from Hyrule.

Well.  Almost gone.  Shaw still remains.  Erik knows that he won’t call more darkness back—not yet.  Not until he’s assured himself of his victory, until he’s won.  Erik jogs through the gates and up the long pathway to the castle, keeping his sword out and ready.  There will be no more darkness in Hyrule save for that of the night, if he can help it.

He keeps a sharp lookout for monsters but the grounds appear just as silent and empty as they had the first time he’d come here, running desperately with Charles on his back.  Erik’s not sure what to make of that.  Is Shaw so cocky that he doesn’t think he needs guards?  Or is there another reason, something that Erik is missing?

Regardless, he passes unhindered through the grounds as he makes his way up to the front of the castle.  He’s not worried about being attacked by Shaw himself, at least—he’s certain that Shaw will wait, and make Erik come to him.  It suits Erik just fine.  The courtyard in front of the main doors of the castle is empty and abandoned as well, so Erik strides up to the doors and pushes them open with a loud creak, stepping inside.

Even though Erik knows exactly where he is he still blinks as he enters the grand entrance hall of the castle.  He can’t help but feel that he’s come an extremely long way only to end up in the exact same place.  Different, though—the enormous stained glass window is present, and there is no tall statue of the Hero in the center of the room.

He starts off across the hall, and instead of sticking to the edges behind the pillars this time he walks down the center, no longer hiding.  He nearly starts to make for the hallway containing the servant’s stairs that will take him directly up to the floor where Charles’ room is, but he stops.  Odds are that it’ll be a waste of time.  If Shaw has woken Charles, they’re not going to be waiting in Charles’ rooms.  Shaw will have taken him elsewhere, to set his grand stage.

 _The Hero and Shaw met for battle at the top of the tallest turret of the castle_.  Raven’s words.  Of course.  Shaw is trying to repeat history.

But still Erik hesitates, thinking it over.  There’s a good chance that Shaw still wants Hyrule to drown, but he also seems more confident this time.  The lack of any and all nightmare guards within the castle is proof enough of that.  It could be that this time Shaw does not want to destroy—but wants to _rule_.

Erik sets off at a run.  He clears the rest of the entrance hall in record time, coming right up to a pair of doors smaller than the ones marking the entrance to the castle but no less grand—they are carved ornately, with of course the Triforce featured at the top.  He pushes through them.

He finds himself in a corridor that gradually ascends upwards in the form of wide stairs.  He’s not sure what the point of this kind of architecture is at all, other than making for an admittedly impressive hallway that is lined with windows that look out into the garden.  Tall suits of armor stand in evenly-spaced alcoves against the other wall and Erik’s boots make no sound on the thick carpet even as he bounds up the stairs.  He can imagine the stately processions held in this corridor.

Up ahead at the end of the hall and the top of the stairs is another set of doors, identical to the ones he just came through.  This one is flanked by two Darknuts, one on either side, broadswords planted on the ground in front of them.  Erik stops short.

He knows that they’ve seen him when they both shift, heavy armor clanking.  They hoist their broadswords up, and they start down the stairs towards him.  Erik’s gaze darts between the two, and then at the door.  If he could get past them, maybe…but no.  He needs to finish them both off here and now, even if he doesn’t have the time.

It figures that Shaw would have no monsters patrolling the castle up until the very last possible second.

Erik sheathes his sword, and pulls out his bow and quiver.  The two Darknuts are nearly close enough to reach him with their long blades so he pulls out a Light Arrow, squinting against the brightness, and then fires one off directly into the Darknut on the left.

The arrow pierces directly through the monster, heavy armor and all, and Erik watches with morbid fascination as the monster twists and writhes where it stands, letting out a roar as the light grows impossibly brighter and brighter, before abruptly bursting into a black cloud of smoke.

Huh.  He should’ve thought of this before.

The second Darknut swings at him and Erik retaliates with a second arrow, vanquishing it in a matter of seconds.  The monster erupts into a cloud of black smoke and leaves behind a ringing silence in the long corridor.  Just like that, Erik’s way is clear.  He slides his bow and quiver back into his pouch and draws his sword again.

Erik pushes the doors open slowly, and steps into the throne room.

Later he will admire the tall, vaulted ceiling, and the neat rows of long, sweeping banners that hang down, bearing the winged crest of Hyrule and the Triforce each.  He will take in more closely the short stretch that leads up to the intricately carved throne that sits raised above the rest of the floor by a few small steps.

But now, as he enters the room, tense and wary, the only thing he has eyes for is Charles, collapsed on his side at the foot of the stairs with his eyes closed.  The second thing Erik sees is Shaw, standing a few feet to the side at the top of the stairs with his back to him.

The doors slam shut behind him.

Erik fights against every instinct in his body screaming at him to run to Charles, to check that he’s alright, to pull him away and get as much distance between him and Shaw as possible, forcing himself to remain still.  He can see from here that Charles is still breathing, slow and even.  Erik frowns.  If Charles is still asleep, why isn’t he projecting himself?

Shaw turns his head, taking in Erik with a single eye.  “Do you know what he dreams of?”

Erik doesn’t move, gripping his shield and sword.

Shaw turns, his dark cloak swirling with the motion.  He walks down the steps slowly.  He’s garbed in black armor similar to the Darknuts, though his is not nearly as thick or bulky and is much more ornate, adorned with swirling designs in red and gold that come close to the Hyrulian ones Erik knows well but yet still don’t quite match up.  It is startling how young he appears—older than Erik himself, certainly, but for an ancient, evil power he still appears so…human.

Erik tenses further when Shaw comes to a stop beside Charles, his heavy boots inches from Charles’ head.  Shaw merely looks down at the prince slowly, making no further movements.

“Oceans.  Oceans.  Oceans.”  Shaw says the word with soft contempt.  “Oceans as far as the eye can see.  I know he’s been running around with you across the realm, so I sealed him here in true sleep.  And _that_ is what he dreams of.”

Erik shifts slightly on his feet, trying to loosen his muscles.  He’s glad to know that Charles is only locked in sleep, and hasn’t been hurt as far as he can tell.  His gaze flicks back up to Shaw when the man lifts his head again.

“I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, Hero.”  Shaw might appear young but his eyes are ancient, burning infernos that threaten to swallow Erik whole.  “It can only be called fate.  Once again, I have gathered the three crests.  Once again, I shall lay my hand on that which grants the wish of the beholder.”  He glances at Charles again.  “Already, the crest of Wisdom is mine…”  His gaze cuts back to Erik, a sly grin forming on his face.  “All that remains…”

Erik feels the symbol on his hand before he sees it start to glow, resonating with the other two crests present in the room.  Shaw’s eyes fixate on his hand.

Erik blinks, and suddenly Shaw is directly in front of him.

Before he can even react, Shaw lands a punch to the side of his face and Erik’s head snaps back with a sickening crunch.  Stunned, Erik feels his sword and shield slip from his grasp as Shaw pummels him again, with far greater strength than his body looks to contain, each of his blows raining down like sledgehammers.  Shaw flings an arm out, catching him in the chest, and Erik goes down hard, all the air in his lungs whooshing out of his body.

All he can do is lie still, dazed.  He hadn’t even been able to put up a fight.

“Do not fear,” Shaw says above him.  “I will not kill you.  I merely have need of the power that dwells within you.”  He reaches down, and Erik groans when Shaw grabs him by the wrist, half-lifting him up off the floor like a ragdoll.  “Now.  Let us put an end to that which binds us together.”

Erik feels the symbol on the hand that Shaw holds up for him begin to shift, glowing brightly.  The Triforce of Courage emerges, floating up slowly.  Across the room, Charles’ limp hand begins to glow as well and a moment later the Triforce of Wisdom drifts up over their heads.

“Yes,” Shaw breathes, raising up his free hand in a fist.  It glows, a low hum filling the air, and the Triforce of Power joins the other two in a wash of golden light.

Erik lifts his head to watch as the three crests converge together to form the full Triforce, swelling in size and glowing continuously as it floats down to hover in front of the steps to the throne beside Charles.  Shaw lets Erik slip from his grasp, stepping over him as he slowly walks towards it.

“Gods!  Hear that which I desire!”  Shaw raises his voice, loud and commanding.  As he approaches the Triforce he lifts one arm, reaching forward.  “Send these foolish children away!  Fail them in their hopeless quest!  _Give Hyrule to me_!”

Erik pushes himself to his feet, even though his head is still ringing from Shaw’s assault.  He launches himself after Shaw, with only one intent—he must not allow him to touch the Triforce.  Erik crashes into Shaw and to his grim satisfaction they both topple over as Shaw is caught entirely by surprise.  He hadn’t been expecting Erik to get back up anytime soon, but his surprise doesn’t last long.  Erik chokes when Shaw manages to land on top of him and get one gloved hand wrapped around his throat, beginning to squeeze.

“Little Hero,” Shaw says, holding Erik down even as he struggles, his hand an unbreakable vise that grows tighter by the second, “your time has come.  There is no place for you in my new age—”

“Let go of him, Shaw,” comes a steely voice suddenly, and Shaw is so shocked that in his haste to turn he actually obeys.

Erik coughs, wheezing, as he escapes Shaw’s grip, rolling himself away from the monster.  He lifts his head, panting.

Charles stands beside the Triforce, pale and shaky but _awake_ , with one hand resting against its golden surface.

Shaw picks himself up slowly.

“He who touches it will have whatever he desires granted,” Charles says slowly, meeting Shaw’s gaze unflinchingly.  “That _is_ how it works, is it not?”

Shaw doesn’t respond, his face twisted into an ugly look as he stares back.

Charles moves his gaze to Erik.  “Are you alright?”

Erik nods, climbing to his feet and picking up his sword and shield.  Shaw took him by surprise, but now that Charles has taken _Shaw_ by surprise, all the wind seems to have been blown out of the old monster’s sails.  He looks older now, somehow.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep.”  Charles gives him a brief, wry smile.  “Last time, I promise.”

Erik grins back.  Charles is awake.  They’re together again.

But they’re not finished here yet.

Charles gives him a tiny nod, and then his eyes flicker to Shaw again.  “Gods of the Triforce,” he says, lifting his voice, “hear that which _I_ desire!”

There is a brief, solidary moment in which to Erik’s eyes Charles seems to glow brighter than even the Triforce itself and he is beautiful.

“ _Never_ give Hyrule to Shaw!” Charles cries, blue eyes flashing.  “Banish him from these lands along with the darkness that he has wrought!  Let light shine on Hyrule!”  He pauses, his voice growing quiet, unblinking gaze still trained on Shaw.  “And never let that light grow dim.”

The Triforce radiates golden light and the air seems to ripple, disturbed by unseen forces.  A low hum in the air grows higher and higher pitched, and then cuts off entirely as the Triforce winks out of sight and is gone.

There is a moment of silence, and then Shaw throws his head back and begins to laugh.

Charles circles around him, coming over to stand beside Erik.  Erik keeps his body angled towards Shaw but he gives Charles a smile, which Charles returns with a small, rueful laugh.

“Do you think I overdid it?” he asks, and Erik chuckles.  Across the room Shaw is still laughing, long and loud with a harsh edge of madness.  “I think it’s time to bring an end to this.”

Erik shifts his feet, widening his stance.

“Erik.  What I wanted to tell you, before I disappeared.”  Charles reaches over to touch Erik’s cheek.  “I believe in you.  And I love you.”  He steps away, walking backwards as he moves to the edge of the room.  “Finish this.”

Shaw whirls around to face Erik, his face twisted into an ugly sneer.  He holds his hands up high and in a poof of black magic, two swords appear, blades crossed above his head.  “Very well.  Let us see how much your precious Triforce is worth.”

He bends his knees and leaps across the room, nearly gliding on air, and Erik charges forward to meet him with a cry.  Their blades crash, Erik’s Master Sword luminous against Shaw’s dual black blades.  Erik gets his shield between them, evading a slash at his shoulder while he surges forward, pushing through Shaw’s defense to swipe at the monster’s chest.

Erik’s blow lands and Shaw hisses, lifting a foot and kicking him away.  Erik stumbles back as Shaw whirls, a deadly spin of swords, and then they circle each other slowly.  Erik feels grim satisfaction at having landed the first blow, but he knows that this is far from over.

He charges forward again and Shaw meets him, swiping low with one sword while the other blade hurtles towards Erik’s neck.  Erik is forced to do a strange sort of hop, jamming his shield down low and bringing his own blade up to his throat, stopping Shaw’s barely a millimeter off.  He ducks, rolling to the side and back up to his feet, jumping up with a loud cry at Shaw’s back.  Shaw turns, blades crossed to block him and Erik’s arm rebounds so hard that the Master Sword nearly goes flying.

Shaw uncrosses his swords with a wide sweep, spinning them in both hands as he advances towards Erik, framed by deadly windmills.  Erik takes a step back, lifting his shield, and then Shaw is on him, swords flashing.  Erik parries, slamming his blade down on one of Shaw’s swords to stop it but Shaw smashes the other into his shield arm so hard that Erik’s arm swings out, leaving him wide open.

Erik gives a loud cry as Shaw’s blade slices through his shoulder, grinding against his collar bone, the entire length of steel coming away with a splatter of blood.  His arm goes numb for a second and then the biting pain sets in, making him reel.  He just barely manages to push Shaw back, getting distance between them again, the shield a heavy, dragging weight.

“Erik!” Charles shouts from across the room, but with Shaw between them he doesn’t dare try to come to him, which Erik is grateful for.

Shaw smirks.  “One wound, Hero, and you are finished?”

Erik shakes his arm, clenching his jaw against the pain.  He tests the limb, trying to lift it, but his mobility has been reduced to nearly nothing—he only hangs onto his shield by sheer determination.  He could drop it, but then he would be utter defenseless all along one flank, and with Shaw wielding two blades that isn’t an option.  Blood stains his green tunic, thick and dark.

Erik darts forward, moving far sooner than he knows Shaw expects him to.  Shaw barely brings his swords up in time but it’s Erik’s turn to pressure him, hacking at his crossed blades and grunting as he forces his other arm to swing forward, thrusting his shield up under them and then jabbing low into Shaw’s belly.  Shaw roars as Erik twists his sword and then yanks back with a loud, wet sound.

Shaw snarls, kicking him away and then bounding backwards.  Now they both leave trails of blood, splattering down on the carpet, but whereas Erik is barely holding onto his shield Shaw hardly seems fazed, even though his stomach wound is bleeding fast, dark stain growing and spreading.

“I will make your prince watch as I cut you to pieces,” Shaw says, more of a growl than words as they circle, “and when I am finished with you, I will kill him so slowly that he will be begging for the end, and I will watch as your precious light fades from his eyes—”

Erik attacks, wanting nothing more than to cut the smile right off of Shaw’s face, and their blades tangle with a scrape, a mess of metal that has equal chance of slicing both of them.  With mountainous effort he lifts his shield with a yell, knocking it into all three of their blades and dislodging them.  He thrusts forward but Shaw is too quick, slamming Erik’s sword down with one blade and nailing Erik in the side with the other.  Erik twists just in time so the cut is shallow but he still shouts in pain, pulling back at once.

Shaw sneers at him, shifting his leg.  Erik sees then that he managed to give the monster a gash across the top of his thigh—it looks shallow like his own wound, but it will be an annoyance.  Regardless, he can’t allow this to drag on for forever.  He still has strength left yet.

Shaw moves first this time, leaping up high into the air with a loud, guttural roar.  His twin blades arc down in unison and Erik barely gets out of the way when Shaw lands, swords slamming down into the ground and creating a round shockwave of dark magic that flares out around him, sparking as if alive and making the ground tremble with the impact as Erik stares in shock.

“Erik, watch out!” Charles shouts as Shaw leaps up again, and Erik is forced to hit the ground and roll sideways to avoid another dark shockwave.

He stumbles up to his feet as Shaw bears down on him, dual blades whirling wildly.  Erik fends him off but it feels as if he’s moving in slow motion while Shaw has only sped up, lightning quick with his blows, but _no_ , he can’t lose, not now, and he grits his teeth and fights back.  He’s just barely able to keep Shaw from cutting into him, but he doesn’t even come close to being able to break through Shaw’s defenses—he’s too fast.  Every time Erik sees an opening it’s gone in a flash, covered by thrusts and slashes that he struggles to block, stuck on the defensive.

With a sneer of contempt Shaw kicks him back, booted foot landing square in his stomach and sending Erik sprawling.  To Erik’s relief he doesn’t follow through, instead circling back across the room to put distance between them for a moment—his belly wound seems to finally be getting to him, at the very least.

Warm hands close on Erik’s shoulders as he sits up.  “You’re not going to outmatch him alone,” Charles says, crouched behind him, “let me help you.”

Erik looks back at him sharply.

“Lend me your bow and quiver,” Charles says.  The hand that rests lightly on Erik’s injured shoulder is stained red with blood, but Charles doesn’t seem to mind.  “The Light Arrows won’t be enough to kill him, but they may slow him down.  That’s all we need.”

Erik pulls out his bow and quiver, passing them back to Charles.  Across the room Shaw is turning back towards them, swords at the ready.  Charles slings the quiver across his back and stands, stepping in front of Erik and clasping his arm to pull him back up to his feet.

Charles gives a small smile.  “Together, then?”

Erik nods, and turns back to Shaw.  The monster advances towards them slowly.  Erik rolls his shoulders, the pain from his injury reduced to a throbbing ache that’s only bearable because he pushes it aside.  He can focus on it later.  He’s tired, from both the fight and traveling the long distance to get here, but he pushes that away too.  He can rest later.  Right now none of it matters.

He starts forward, sword and shield raised, and Shaw is ready for him.  They clash in the center of the room, spinning in a deadly dance as Erik ducks and weaves between Shaw’s swords and Shaw twists out of the way from Erik’s.  Erik slips his blade between Shaw’s and when they close around it he twists his wrist, twirling his sword and knocking them aside so he can plunge forward.

Charles takes the opening and looses an arrow in a bright flash, the bolt whizzing through the air and slamming into Shaw’s back.  Shaw opens his mouth with a bellow, spine arching as light sparks across him with a loud sizzling sound.  Erik lands his blow, thrusting the Master Sword into his shoulder and slicing down, opening a long gash.  He hacks at Shaw several more times, sparks of light flying from his sword before Shaw recovers as the sparks die out, slamming him back with a snarl and retreating.

Across the room Charles reaches back for another arrow, giving Erik a grim nod.

Erik leaps after Shaw and is met with black metal, nearly invisible with speed.  Erik sidesteps, pivoting on his feet and dropping low and using his shield as a support to flip, not bothering to hold back his cry of pain as the motion makes his shoulder give a crunch.  He rights himself, sword slashing up and crashing into Shaw’s with a scrape, and Charles fires again.

The bolt hits Shaw in the side with an explosion of light, sparks flying, and Shaw is once again rendered temporarily paralyzed.  Erik draws back his sword arm and then slams down with all of his strength, following through with several shorter, quick blows that leave Shaw’s armor in tatters, dark blood coursing freely.

Shaw recovers more quickly this time, swinging both his blades sideways at Erik with a howl as he unfreezes.  Erik lifts his shield, yelling at the jarring impact, and then pushes back and lashes out with the Master Sword to get Shaw to rebalance.  He’s still sent sprawling, hitting the ground hard and rolling onto his back.

Charles lets out another arrow but Shaw leaps up high into the air, dodging it completely and the arrow slams into the far wall with a burst of light.  Erik scrambles back up to his feet as Shaw lands, eyes glinting.  Charles shoots again and Shaw dodges, whirling to the side as the arrow flies past, giving a slow, unpleasant smile.  The arrow hits a suit of armor by the door and bounces off, changing directly abruptly before slamming into the wall with flash.

Charles catches Erik’s eye, worried.  Their strategy has been working perfectly but now that Shaw has sped up even more it’ll be useless.  The only thing that seems to work is surprising Shaw, but he adapts so quickly that they’re running out of ways to actually surprise him.

He sees the suit of armor out of the corner of his eye and suddenly Erik has it.  He meets Charles’ gaze, and then very deliberately bangs his sword against his shield.  Charles’ eyes widen in understanding.

Shaw’s slash catches him unaware and Erik flinches back, but he still feels the cold slice of metal across his cheek as he refocuses on his enemy, turning and attacking back, thrusting his blade up along Shaw’s side.  He can feel blood dripping down the side of his face but the cut feels shallow so he ignores it, keeping his grip on his sword as Shaw knocks it away.  He needs to draw Shaw out, get him back between himself and Charles so—

Shaw spins, blades extended out far, and Erik leaps back to avoid being sliced to ribbons.  He backs into the center of the room, eyes flying to Charles as he lifts his shield—

Charles looses his arrow with a twang, aiming not for Shaw but for Erik.  Erik has to squeeze his eyes shut as the Light Arrow collides with his shield and bounces off, just as the previous one had against the suit of armor, shooting off in a new trajectory and burying itself in Shaw’s chest with a crackle of light and power.

Erik sprints forward, laying into Shaw with all he’s got, leaving deep gashes across his front as he whittles away the monster’s strength and energy.  Shaw unfreezes with a shout, dropping one sword entirely in order to slam one fist into Erik’s stomach, hitting so hard that Erik’s feet leave the ground and he flies backwards, landing on his back once again.  He sits up quickly, ready to block Shaw’s follow-through attack, but to his horror Shaw has turned away from him to face Charles.

 _Charles_.

Shaw leaps towards him, crossing the room in the blink of an eye and backhanding the prince across the face just as he had Erik earlier.  Charles drops with a cry, the bow clattering to the ground beside him, and Erik pushes himself frantically to his feet because _Shaw has Charles_ and Charles is—

Shaw reaches down with his free hand and grabs Charles by the front of his tunic, lifting him clear off the ground and slamming him back against the wall, crushing him there and smirking as he lifts his sword, his back left wide open—

Charles struggles in his hold and as Erik runs towards them he sees a tiny flash of silver and Shaw hisses as Charles plunges his dagger into the monster’s hand, directly through his tattoo of the Triforce of Power in defiance.  Shaw doesn’t let go, just clenches his hand tighter as blood gushes out, and lifts his sword higher, poised to run the prince through and Erik lets out a wild cry as he leaps up, Master Sword gleaming—

There is a loud, wet sound of metal sliding into flesh, and everything falls still and silent.

Erik grips the hilt of his sword, panting.  His blade is buried deep in Shaw’s back, running him straight through as the tip protrudes out from Shaw’s front.  Shaw stands frozen.  His sword drops out of his hand, hitting the ground at his feet with a loud clang.  His grip on Charles fails, and Charles drops to his feet, still pressed back against the wall, eyes wide.  He’s splattered with blood that is not his own—Shaw’s.

Erik breathes a shaky sigh of bone-deep relief.

Shaw opens his mouth wordlessly, unable to speak as his breath rattles out wetly as his lungs fill with blood.  The hand fisted in Charles’ tunic drops down to his side.

“There was no version of this,” Charles says steadily into the quiet, his face pale beneath the red blood but his blue eyes bright, “where you came out on top.  Go back to the shadows.”

“I—” Shaw’s form begins to glow, light piercing him from the inside out, projected in bright beams in all directions.  “I’m—”  His body shudders, eyes slipping closed as his breath rattles out of his lungs one last time.  “ _Drowning_.”

Shaw bursts into light that spirals upwards, dancing through the air above their heads and then erupting into thousands of shimmering particles that drift down slowly like ash as they fade, the golden glow dissipating until there is nothing left and no trace remains.

Shaw has been vanquished.

There’s a beat where Charles and Erik stare at each other, and then Charles surges forward with a happy laugh, flinging his arms around Erik.  Erik lets his sword and shield drop and gathers Charles up into his arms, ignoring the pain from his injuries as he holds Charles close, warm and solid and alive and they’ve done it.  They’ve saved Hyrule.

“We did it, we did it,” Charles says, the words riding a sob as he laughs and cries all at once, holding onto Erik as they sway together, clinging tightly, “you did it, Erik, _you_ did it.”

Erik draws back from him only to catch him in a kiss, long and deep.  Charles parts his lips with a sigh, eyes slipping closed and Erik hasn’t forgotten how much better it is to do this in person, with Charles’ mouth hot against his, the slick drag of their tongues as Erik tastes him, slow and languid.  Charles kisses him back, hands sliding up to gently tug Erik’s hat off so he can tangle his fingers in Erik’s hair, pulling him down and deepening the kiss further, neither of them ever wanting to let go.

Eventually they’re forced to break apart for air, and Erik pants a little harder than normal as all of his injuries catch up with him now that the rush of adrenaline and battle strength fades, so Charles slips under his good arm, wrapping it around his shoulders to support him and keep him steady.

Charles’ eyes are still over-bright with tears, but he turns his head and Erik tilts his own down to bump their foreheads against each other, pressing gently close.  They stay like that for a moment, breathing together, relishing in each other and their victory.  Erik leans heavily against Charles, closing his eyes.  When Charles speaks, he hears the smile in the prince’s voice and he’s unable to keep a smile of his own from slipping across his face.

“Raven would be proud,” Charles says softly in their shared space.  “Our Hyrule will remain in the sunlight.”

Erik keeps his eyes closed but shifts a little, giving the prince a small nudge.  The realm is safe.  That is good.  He hasn’t failed.  Charles is safe.

“Come on,” Charles says, adjusting his grip on Erik so that they can start to walk, “let’s get you cleaned up.  I’ve personally had enough sleep to last me a lifetime, but I think you could use a little rest, yes?”

Erik laughs, opening his eyes again so he can help Charles with wherever they’re going, and as Charles joins in, bright and unrestrained, Erik thinks that yes, maybe this time some sleep is just what he needs.

 

X

 

_Wielding the Blade of Evil's Bane, he sealed the dark one away and gave the land light._

 

X

 

A week passes.  Erik heals and rests, spending most of it asleep.  He dreams, bits and snatches of his quest resurfacing from his subconscious, but no longer are they the intricate nightmares that haunted him before.  He does not see Raven.  He isn’t sure whether or not to be relieved.

He barely sees Charles, who is immediately swept up into his duties as the crown prince, pouring all of his time and energy and effort into getting the realm back on its feet.  Runners are dispatched to all corners of the realm, carrying with them the long, sordid tale of the truth—Royal Advisor Kurt Marko had murdered in cold blood the King and Queen, and had unleashed an ancient evil upon Hyrule: but all now is well, for the Hero had come.

When he does see Charles, it’s usually at the end of the day where they fall into bed together to sleep, curled around each other tightly to share body heat.  Charles is wary at first of giving in to his obvious exhaustion, and though he never voices it directly Erik knows that it’s being trapped in dreams and endless sleep that he fears.  He coaxes Charles to sleep every night, though, and is there in the morning to rouse Charles awake and prove again that the nightmare is over.

He gets small, whispered thanks each time, which Erik answers with a soft kiss.

The castle refills with men-at-arms and servants, all swearing oath and fealty to Charles.  His coronation is set, and the runners all return with affirmatives from people across the realm—Hyrule will accept Charles as its new king.  Erik smiles when Charles tells him.  Charles will be a benevolent king.  There’s no questioning his legitimacy or honor—if the people of Castle Town are anything to go by, they all already love him.  As they should.

A letter arrives for Erik, slightly crumpled from a long journey; it’s a long way from Ordon Village to Castle Town.  Erik reads it together with Charles, laughing at Angel’s descriptions of her, Alex, Sean, and Hank’s journey home from Kakariko Village.  As Irene had promised, they’d arrived home safely, with only a few mishaps along the way—mostly due to Alex’s stubbornness.  Angel has also written that she’ll miss Ororo terribly and is planning to visit again one day—but when will Erik be home?  Alex’s father is amazed by the tales he’d heard of Erik from the runner, but wants his family sword back if it’s not too much trouble.

Maybe Erik is only imagining it, but Charles holds onto him more tightly than usual that night as they sleep.

The day of Charles’ coronation arrives, dawning bright and beautiful with clear skies and endless sunshine.  Erik has seen Charles face down countless dangers, enemies, and Shaw himself, but he’s never seen Charles look more nervous than when they are waiting together just outside of the throne room, getting ready to walk in for the ceremony.  He draws Charles aside, holding Charles’ faintly shaking hands with his own, and kisses him gently, careful not to rumple or crease the soon-to-be-king’s elegant clothes.  He does run a calloused hand down the side of Charles’ face, reassuring, and that prompts Charles to smile, deciding that he’s ready.  They enter the throne room side-by-side, the Prince and the Hero, and the ceremony begins.

It’s long and intricate, with many rituals involved that Erik soon loses track of from his place standing with the rest of the assorted witnesses, but he keeps his gaze on Charles the entire time.  Charles knows each and every one of the traditions, never wavering or faltering, and Erik’s heart swells with pride as at long last the royal crown is lowered down onto Charles’ head, appointing him King of Hyrule.

His favorite part is when, directly after, as the throne room is filled with clapping, Charles’ blue eyes dart up again and seek out Erik, and together they share a long, slow smile.

There is a celebratory feast planned in the grand ballroom of the castle afterwards, and it truly seems as if the entire population of Castle Town has shown up, along with many others that have traveled from all areas of the realm to celebrate the crowning of their new king.  There are long tables stacked full of food and drink, open to all, and there is music and dancing and Erik never realized that such a huge, open space could look so full, bursting with laughter and merriment.

Erik himself arrives slightly late to the festivities, wanting to deposit his sword and shield back up in Charles’ rooms for safekeeping.  He had dutifully worn them to the ceremony itself, so that all present would know just who exactly he was, but now there’s no reason to keep them on for a party.  There aren’t going to be any monsters for him to slay here—or ever again, now.

He tries not to feel as if he’s lost a limb as he sets them down against the wall and then heads back downstairs to the ballroom.

The dancing is already in full-swing by the time he arrives, and he has to wade through a sea of people nearly as soon as he walks through the door.  He spots Charles instantly, sitting in a chair raised up slightly above the crowd, greeting a long line of congratulatory well-wishers, which makes Erik smile—a kind and _patient_ king indeed.  He keeps away for now, instead going over to one of the tables holding the feast and making himself a plate, nodding to anyone who recognizes and hails him.

The hour grows late, the sky fading to black outside the enormous windows that line one wall, and over all their heads the enormous crystal chandelier glows bright like a miniature sun.  The celebrations show no sign of slowing down, and finally Erik sees that Charles has been left alone, the crowd around his throne broken up as most everyone has finished congratulating him, drifting off to join the party.  Charles sits at ease in his chair but his eyes scan the crowds restlessly, and Erik gives a small, private smile.  He knows who Charles is looking for.

Charles doesn’t see Erik until he’s nearly right in front of him, but when he does he breaks into a wide, sunny smile, unconsciously straightening as Erik approaches.

“Enjoying the party?” Charles asks when Erik comes to a stop in front of him.  “It’s lovely to see everyone having a good time.  We all needed this, I think.”

Erik glances around.  No one else waits for Charles’ attention.  Charles has tended to his duties for a week straight now, and has performed his part of the ceremony flawlessly.  He can afford to abandon his post just this once.

He offers a hand to Charles, raising an eyebrow expectantly.  Charles grins, lighting up, and then reaches to accept, allowing Erik to pull him to his feet and lead him out into the crowd of dancers.  Some people wave as they whirl by, recognizing them, but for the most part he and Charles fall into step with the fast, happy tune and then the world narrows back down to just the two of them as they hold onto each other and dance, spinning and twirling and never letting go once.

Erik isn’t sure how long they dance—it could be hours or only minutes, a merry blur of motion and music—and then Charles is gently tugging his hand, weaving them through the other dancers, and together they slip through the ballroom.  They step out into the hallway, leaving the celebration to continue on without them.

They’re kissing almost as soon as the door closes behind them, fast and messy, teeth clicking together on accident as they devour each other’s mouths.  Charles pushes against him, plastering himself against Erik’s front and Erik only pulls him closer, his shoulder only giving the barest twinge in protest.  His hands roam liberally across Charles’ body, and it takes all of his self control not to bring them up to tangle in Charles’ hair—he’d certainly knock the crown off, and something tells him that sending the royal crown of Hyrule rolling down the hallway wouldn’t be befitting behavior for the Hero.

It _may_ be worth it, though.

Their progress through the castle is slow and halting.  They stop to kiss every few feet and even when they’re walking they can’t keep their hands off each other, seeking out skin where available purely for the novelty of being able to touch, which will never wear down between them.  At one point they spend a golden eternity tucked into an alcove behind a suit of armor, Erik pressing Charles back against the wall and kissing and sucking his way down Charles’ neck until Charles whimpers, begging for them to continue on, _please_ Erik.  Erik obeys, though reluctantly.

Somehow they make it up all the endless stairs of the castle, fortunately running into no one.  Erik’s not sure how anyone would react to seeing their king and the Hero both flushed and panting, too aroused to care about proper decorum as they just barely keep from tearing each other’s clothes off right in the middle of the corridor.  By the time they finally make it to Charles’ rooms Erik is near-painfully hard, and when they get to the door he yanks it open and pulls Charles after him, plowing up the short flight of spiral stairs.

“Finally,” Charles breathes against Erik’s lips, and then yelps when Erik scoops him up, lifting him off the ground to kiss him.  He wraps his legs around Erik’s waist, laughing into the kiss before he reciprocates in interest, sliding his arms around Erik’s neck and pressing their chests together.

Erik walks them over to the bed and half-tosses Charles down onto it, grinning at Charles’ breathless laugh as he bounces backwards.  Erik crawls up onto the blankets after him, kicking off his boots as an afterthought.  Charles lies back and Erik moves over him, his knees on the outside of Charles’ hips, framing him.  He reaches down and carefully removes Charles’ crown, lifting it up with exaggerated reverence to make Charles laugh again.

“Yes, careful with that,” he says ruefully, running his fingers up and down the sides of Erik’s legs continuously.  “Probably best to keep it in good form, don’t want the kingdom to think I’m careless.”

Erik rolls his eyes but puts the crown on the bedside table, safely out of the way.  Truthfully the only bit he likes about it are the large blue sapphires inlaid in the gold, that nearly match Charles’ eyes.

He’s free now to go back to kissing Charles breathless again, so he does, slowly beginning to work on undoing each and every layer of Charles’ ceremonial clothing.  Charles looks exceptionally fine in them, Erik will not deny, but right now he’s of the opinion that Charles will look even better without them.  Charles helps as best as he can, shifting up and down as needed to get his arms and legs out of sleeves and holding still for Erik to pull off his shoes until finally he is naked, and Erik has miles and miles of pale skin to touch and taste.

Then Charles’ fingers start to fumble with the front of Erik’s pants and Erik jerks and groans as they brush over—purposefully or not—the bulge of his cock, making him dizzy with lust and need.  He dives down to lick a long stripe along Charles’ throat, finding the spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder that he knows drives him wild, sucking the spot until Charles is practically writhing beneath him.

“Erik—oh, _Erik_ , please—”

Erik plants his hands firmly on the mattress on either side of Charles’ shoulders, trailing downwards and never allowing his lips to leave Charles’ skin.  He grazes his tongue over each of his nipples, making Charles shudder and whine, hands moving to grip Erik’s forearms pleadingly.  Erik moves lower, trailing light kisses down Charles’ stomach, and plants a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss against his skin just below his navel, all while he slides his knees back on the bed so that he’s straddling Charles’ legs now instead, holding them down in place.  Charles’ cock stands straight up, wet and leaking and desperate for attention, which gives Erik an idea.

He straightens, grabbing hold of Charles’ legs and drawing them apart so he can settle in between them.  Charles blushes and squirms, slightly embarrassed to be so exposed and on display, but he forgets his self-consciousness entirely when Erik bends down to breathe on the head of his cock.

“E-Erik,” he stammers, hips jerking up on their on volition, “I—you—y-you—”

Erik presses his hands down on Charles’ hips, holding him down in place, and then licks a long stripe down the underside of Charles’ cock.  Charles moans, and Erik feels him twitch beneath his hands.  He does it again, relishing in the sounds that pour out of Charles’ mouth, which only hours earlier had steadily been swearing old, traditional oaths to protect and serve Hyrule.

Then Erik opens his mouth and takes in the head of Charles’ cock, passing his tongue over the slit, and Charles cries out, back arching up off the bed as his hands fist into the blankets.  His taste is musky, with a tinge of salt that Erik likens to the sea, so uniquely _Charles_ that Erik wants to taste more, taste all of him, and with that in mind he tilts his head down and swallows Charles whole.

Charles jerks against him, quivering, but Erik holds him steadily, working at his own pace as he slides Charles’ cock in and out of his mouth.  The thick length sits heavily on his throat and tongue, close to gagging him, but he stifles the impulse and sucks, drawing out more of Charles’ taste.  Charles gasps raggedly, throwing one arm up across his face as he moans and sighs, a litany of Erik’s name and obscenities falling from his lips as Erik makes a round, wet circle with his lips and fucks his own face on Charles’ cock.

He feels Charles begin to stiffen, tensing up beneath him as he reaches the brink.  Erik deep throats him, sucking him in all the way down so that when he comes, hot and sticky, Erik swallows every last drop before pulling off of him with a wet pop.

Charles has slumped where he lies, still panting.  “Oh gods,” he manages to get out, blissfully dazed, “I—you just—”

Erik moves up to kiss him with the taste of Charles still on his lips.  Charles fists his hands in Erik’s tunic and then pulls it off over his head, going at once for his white undershirt next.  Erik sits back up when he is bare-chested, slipping out of his pants so that at last he is naked too, his neglected cock now painfully hard.  Charles’ eyes are drawn to it immediately, and Erik chuckles when he unconsciously licks his lips in anticipation.

As much as Erik would love to have Charles’ mouth on his cock—it twitches at the mere thought—what he really wants is to be pressed inside of Charles, because they’re finally here together again, and Charles is awake and willing and _warm_.  Erik will never be over how warm Charles is in the flesh, like a furnace, and so receptive that it steals his breath away sometimes.

He reaches back over to the bedside table and fishes the jar of slick out of the drawer, holding it up to where Charles can see it with a questioning look.

Charles gives an intake of breath but nods, spreading his legs a little wider.  “I’m yours, Erik,” he says, and Erik nearly stops breathing.  “Please.”

Erik unscrews the lid of the jar, dipping his fingers in to coat them liberally with the slick and then sets it aside, moving down to kiss Charles again, nipping at his lips before slipping his tongue into Charles’ mouth and thoroughly distracting him as he reaches down to find his hole.  When he traces one finger around the edge of his entrance Charles shivers, groaning into their kiss, and then Erik slips his finger in past the tight ring of muscle, sliding it in carefully.

Charles whimpers, hot and tight around him so Erik pauses, letting him grow accustomed to the intrusion before he starts to move his finger slowly, back and forth.  Charles relaxes again, sighing into their kiss as he sucks on Erik’s tongue, legs falling open a little more where he’d instinctively tried to close them.  When Erik deems Charles ready he adds a second finger along with his first, pumping them in and out of Charles’ hole slowly at first and picking up speed as Charles begins to rock his hips up into the motion, his spent cock slowly hardening again.

“I can take it,” Charles whispers as Erik scissors his fingers, stretching him, “you’ve had me before, Erik, _a-ah_ —”

Erik is unable to hold in a groan, sliding a third finger in because as much as he wants to pin Charles down and fuck him fast and hard, hurting Charles is the last thing he wants to do.  He pushes his three fingers in, feeling out for the exact spot that will make Charles—

Charles cries out loudly, throwing his head back against the blankets as his toes curl, thrusting his hips up into the air against Erik’s hand as he rubs the bundle of nerves.  A thin sheen of sweat makes his skin glisten in the dim light, and Erik is panting just looking at him and his wanton display of pleasure, desperately trying to fuck himself on Erik’s fingers.

Erik pulls his fingers out of Charles completely, his movements shaky and clumsy as he fumbles with the jar again.  He has to squeeze the base of his cock to keep from coming as he slicks himself up, locking gazes with Charles who lies bonelessly beneath him, looking back up at him with half-hooded eyes that are nearly entirely black with lust, pupils blown wide.  He is exquisite.

“I’ve wanted to do this ever since that first night,” Charles says in a rush, his voice just as shaky as Erik feels, “but you were hurt and healing and I’ve been so busy, and we were both tired—”

Erik cuts him off with a kiss, lining himself up with Charles’ entrance.  He hasn’t been worried about it, because Charles is right.  It’s been a whirlwind of a week but now they’re here, together, and Charles has been crowned king and they’d _won_ —

He pushes in slowly, groaning into Charles’ mouth at the tight, wet heat that clenches immediately around him as he slides in.  Charles’ breath hitches as Erik pushes in all the way, shaking with the effort of holding back from slamming into him.  They’re both still for a moment, and Erik draws in deep breaths to steady himself, feeling every single inch of Charles that encompasses him perfectly.

“Move,” Charles pleads, shifting beneath him on his back and mouthing at his throat, “ _please_ , please move, _move_ —”

Erik pulls back and then rolls his hips and they both gasp, something hot and bright sparking in his stomach at the smooth drag.  He thrusts into Charles, mouth falling open wordlessly as he loses himself to the snap of his hips and the heat of Charles.  Charles wraps his legs up around Erik’s waist, hands scrabbling across Erik’s back as he moves with him, jerking his hips up to meet him thrust for thrust.

Their skin slides together, slick and warm, and Erik kisses Charles, fucking his tongue back into Charles’ mouth in time with how he fucks his cock into Charles’ ass, cradling Charles’ head with his hands to tilt his head into a better angle.  Charles’ fully-hard cock is trapped between them, rubbing against Erik’s belly with a smear of precome as they work each other up.

Charles lets out a half-formed syllable at every thrust, breathless and incoherent as Erik fucks in and out of him.  When Erik changes his angle, adjusting so that he can nail that same spot inside Charles again, Charles moans loudly, shameless, and Erik only speeds up as Charles arches against him.  The growing heat in his stomach is white-hot now, coiling at the base of his spine, and Erik can only drive forward into Charles, bringing them together again and again.

“I love you,” Charles chokes out brokenly, a baseless desperation, “I love you _so much_ —”

Erik’s vision whites out for a moment when he comes with a shout.  It’s all he can do but continue thrusting through his orgasm, riding out the tide as he fills Charles with his come.  Charles comes a moment later, dragged over the edge by Erik’s release, and they shudder together in the aftershocks as they both wind down from their mutual high.

Erik continues rocking lightly into Charles until they’re both too sensitive, Charles giving a small noise of discomfort as he unwraps his legs from Erik’s waist.  Erik pulls out carefully, wincing at the drag of skin and sticky come, and then collapses down half-on top of Charles, sated.

Charles turns on his side, curling around Erik and pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as he tucks his face in along Erik’s neck, his breathing already beginning to slow.  “I know you want to return to Ordon and return the sword you borrowed,” he says quietly, sounding oddly uncertain.  His voice speeds up as if he’s nervous as he continues, fumbling over the words.  “And if you just give me a few more days to get everything settled here, and smoothed out, I’d really like to come with you.  If that’s alright.  I’d like to meet all your friends, and I—”

He cuts himself off so abruptly that Erik is worried, shifting over onto his side so that they’re facing each other, legs tangled together.  Charles is worrying his lower lip between his teeth, and he won’t quite meet Erik’s gaze.  Erik frowns, sliding a hand up between them to press the pads of his fingers lightly against Charles’ cheek.

“I—I understand if you don’t—if you want to remain in Ordon,” Charles says haltingly, and Erik’s frown deepens with his confusion.  Charles takes a deep breath.  “But I—Erik.”  Finally he lifts his gaze, luminous blue eyes meeting Erik’s in the dim light.  “I love you.  And I would love if you returned to Castle Town with me.  To stay.  With me.”  He takes a deep breath.  “Stay with me, Erik.”

Erik blinks, thrown off at first as his confusion clears.  Has Charles been worrying about this all week?  Erik’s inevitable departure?  He almost wants to chuckle, but Charles’ face is so drawn and worried, as if he’s bracing himself for the very worst, so all Erik does is surge forward, grasping Charles roughly and drowning out his gasp of surprise with a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of his love for Charles and everything that Charles is and will be, making himself very clear.

Charles is laughing now, all tension leaving his body as he melts against Erik, kissing him again and again and again, giddy with happiness.  Erik smiles, pulling him closer so that they’re practically melded together.  He never could have come this far without Charles.  Of course he’s staying with Charles.

He’ll _always_ stay with Charles—the wind in his sails, his shelter in storms, the light of his life, the prince of his dreams.

Erik wraps his arms around Charles, and together they drift off into sleep.

 

X

 

The breeze is soft and sighing as it whispers through the tall grass, stalks swaying gently and giving the appearance of rolling ocean waves.  Shadows dance across the field swiftly as clouds roll by overhead, slipping in front of the bright sun for moments at a time before billowing on, pushed by a relentless wind.  It is quiet here, with only the sound of the breeze and the occasional snort from the goats.

“There he is!  I see him!”  A girl’s laugh breaks the quiet, and he huffs out a small, silent sigh.

Pounding footsteps in the grass, more laughter, and while he doesn’t open his eyes he can feel the sun being blocked out by something more stationary than a cloud.

“Erik!”  Someone prods him with a toe.  “Wake up, sleepy head!”

Erik cracks open his eyes, looking up at the three figures hovering over him.  Angel is grinning down at him, her hands on her hips, amused.  Alex is scowling—he’s always scowling, one day his face is going to freeze that way—with his brow furrowed, and Sean is crouched, examining a beetle scurrying through the dirt, floppy red hair shifting in the breeze.

“Wait,” a breathless voice calls, and Hank runs up to join them, leaning over to rest his hands on his knees, panting, “wait for me.”

Erik lurches upright, sitting up so fast that all four of them jump.  He looks around wildly.  Ordon.  He’s in _Ordon_?  When did he—

“Erik?” Hank asks, still winded from his run.  “Are you alright?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch?” Alex demands, folding his arms across his chest, and no, no, _no_ , this has already happened—

“You looked like you had one scary nightmare,” Sean remarks, and Angel adds, “Yeah, you’re white as a sheet.  You know, I had the _strangest_ dream last night—”

A wave of icy horror slams into him, their voices fading out as he stares straight ahead at the fence of the goat pen in blank shock.  His head is reeling, and he wants to be sick.

A dream.  It was all just a dream.


	13. Epilogue

A month passes.

Erik goes to the goat ranch during the day, returning straight back to his home afterwards.  He avoids the children.  They keep their distance too at first, even though he knows they’re puzzled by his behavior, but eventually they start trying to follow him home, demanding to know what’s wrong.  He shuts his door in answer, turning the lock.  Eventually they stop trying.

At night, when he actually manages to fall asleep, he does not dream.

When he’s not needed at the ranch, he spends the day lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling listlessly.  The restless feeling he’d once had deep in his bones is utterly gone and he feels nothing but dull lethargy.  He wonders if he’s going mad.  He wonders if he’s already gone mad.

Alex’s father stops by one day and presents him with a wooden sword, a clear effort to cheer him up.  Erik nearly doesn’t accept the gift, staring at it for a long time in the other man’s hands but finally he reaches out to take it, balancing it in his own.  He plasters on what he hopes passes as a smile, but judging by the look Alex’s father gives him before he leaves, it wasn’t convincing.

When he’s alone again Erik grips the wooden sword in his hand.  Where once a sword hilt felt right and natural in his palm, it now feels strange and foreign, awkward to hold or even swing.  He gets angry, furious with himself, with Charles, with the world, and he hurls the sword across the room.  It hits the wall near where his wooden shield hangs, hard enough to make the shield fall with a loud clunk.

He leaves the wooden toys where they’ve fallen in a parody of how he’d carefully leaned his Hyrulian Shield and Master Sword against the wall of Charles’ bedroom.

For a week he entertains the possibility of traveling to Castle Town, and seeking an audience with the king.  Would it be Charles sitting on the throne?  Or his father?  He could ask to see the prince.  But how would he even explain?  That he’d had a dream, a long and fantastical dream where he and Charles had traveled together, fought together side-by-side, had saved the realm together?  Had loved each other?  They’d boot him out of the castle faster than he could blink.

The day he gives up on making the journey is what crushes him.  It means he’s finally given up hope.  He doesn’t go to the ranch that day, and refuses to answer his door even when several different people try to come by, calling his name worriedly before eventually, inevitably, giving up.  Just like he has.

Erik falls into another dreamless sleep that night, blank and empty.

He wakes the next morning when a rock flies in through his open window, landing with a dull thunk and clattering across the floorboards before rolling to a stop somewhere under his table.  He waits for one of the children to call his name, but no voices come.  He debates getting up for a long moment before sluggishly rolling to his feet.  If they’re going to start throwing rocks at him, he may as well stop that sort of behavior now before it gets out of hand.

Erik walks over to look out his window and then stops dead.

Charles leans forward against his saddle horn, astride a beautiful bay stallion that champs its teeth impatiently even as it stands still for him.  He’s dressed in light riding clothes, very similar to the blue tunic Erik had come to know so well.  Beyond him on the edges of the clearing are several men-at-arms, most likely his personal guard, who have already slipped down out of their saddles and are setting up a small camp, as if they mean to stay for a night or two.

Charles is looking around the clearing, taking in the trees as he worries his lower lip between his teeth, but when he senses Erik’s gaze he looks up, straightening slowly in his saddle.  His eyes are just as blue as Erik remembers—bluer—and they’re filled with curiosity and small, wary hope.

Erik sees the sharp intake of breath that Charles takes, his grip on his reins knuckle white.  He seems to be bracing himself for the very worst.  “I—I had a dream—” he starts shakily, but then stops.  He gathers himself, but Erik can wait.  Erik has been waiting his entire life.  Charles continues, steadier now, holding Erik’s gaze unblinkingly.  “Erik.”

Erik smiles.  He feels like the clouds have parted from the sun at long last, the light bright and warm.  “Charles.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart for] The Legend of Raven: Prince of Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/649878) by [Ktown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ktown/pseuds/Ktown)




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